Hold On Love
by jadeddiva
Summary: War brings encounters between those who may not have met otherwise. Lothíriel and Eomer, the reunion. UPDATED!
1. Prelude

_Author's Note: I fell in love with the idea of Eomer & Lothíriel falling in love. Then again, so did a lot of people. This is my idea of their story. It started as my way of justifying the women in Minas Tirith (as shown in the movie) and became my sweet, sappy view of Lothíriel and Eomer's romance. Only, at the moment it's all about her. Don't worry though, he'll come in eventually!!_

_Each chapter will be told from a different person's point of view. Lothíriel's will be most dominant, however. Rated PG-13 for future chapter's sake. Feedback is most welcome - I really would appreciate it! Well, that and some more beta readers, but that's probably asking too much. _

**Prelude** (Imrahil POV)  
  
"Lothíriel?"  
  
She turned to face me, a smile spreading across her face. She had been watching the ships come into the harbor.  
  
"Hello, atar," she said softly. "What has brought you to my quarters today?"  
  
"I have some troubling news to discuss with you, my dear," I replied. I closed the door behind me, shutting out the noise of the palace. Sensing something was wrong, Lothíriel stepped away from the balcony.  
  
"What is wrong? Is there a council meeting?" Lothíriel asked. "Father?"  
  
"I have received reports that Minas Tirith might be threatened by...evil. By Sauron, no less. Reports are coming out from the East that he is rebuilding his army. The Nazgul have been said to ride." I paused, noticing Lothíriel had taken a seat in a nearby chair. "Dol Amroth has been asked to help reinforce the White City."  
  
This information had not surprised her, for she had been privy to all but the most private of meetings, and she had known that her cousin has been sent to Rivendell for an important mission. We had all heard the words 'Isildir's Bane' often in the past year, and the fact that no word has come from Boromir, or Gondor, about what the conference pertained to has caused us worry.  
  
"So you are going to Minas Tirith," she asked. I sighed and shook my head.  
  
"Your uncle's letter was brief, not giving me much information except that Minas Tirith needs reinforcements. And if Minas Tirith is lost..." I cannot end my sentence.  
  
"So you are going." Lothíriel wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her words firm and resolute. Having seen her echo this posture in the past, I could tell she was unhappy. The scholar in her knew that war was not the answer; the princess in her knew that war was often vital.  
  
"You are too much like your cousin," I told her, sitting down in a chair. "I know that you dislike battle, and I know you would seek to prevent it at all costs. But I fear that this is inevitable. I have also heard news that Corsairs are sailing past Lebennin. They are en route to Belfalas, and if they come, they shall try to sack our city."  
  
Lothíriel had said nothing in the past several minutes, her eyes focused on a point low and far away from her. Her hands nervously worked at the edges of her shawl. My daughter is frightened, but she will not let it show.  
  
"I am worried what would happen if the city falls...I am worried about your safety. I am here to offer you a choice: you may stay in the city, or you may come to Minas Tirith with me." Having said that, I leaned back in the chair and waited for her response.  
  
If she stayed in the city, I worried what could happen should the palace be sacked. The image of pirates slitting the delicate throat of my daughter filled me with rage and worry. I do not believe that taking her to Minas Tirith is the best answer, though it will save me worry. I would at least know where she was at all times, and would be able to fight to the last to save her.  
  
"Atar..." she finally said. "What would you have me do?"  
  
I shook my head. "I cannot decide this for you. I can tell you that danger awaits you at both places, most assuredly in Minas Tirith. I can only say that I would like to have you close to me during this conflict for reasons I consider selfish." I started for the door. "Do not let your care for your cousins influence your decisions. You must realize that, if you choose to come with me to Minas Tirith, you walk into certain danger. You walk into either the end of the world, or the beginning."  
  
"It's your choice, melda, not mine," I added, heaving a sigh as I spoke. I cannot make her decision. I had already cursed the fact a decision should be made.  
  
"Father."  
  
I turned back to her. Lothíriel had risen from her chair. Her clear grey eyes shone with something that resembled conviction. Her decision, though quickly made, had been accepted by her completely.  
  
"I will accompany you to Minas Tirith," she said. "I realize it will be hard, but there will be more hurt and suffering there than here. Perhaps I can ease the burden of the healers...or something." Lothíriel blinked then smiled slowly. "In any case, I wish to come. This is an important time for Gondor, and I wish to be there."  
  
I nodded. Relief flooded my body. At least she would be within my sight. I stayed at my position by the door.  
  
"We leave tomorrow morning," I said to her.  
  
Lothíriel nodded. "I shall be ready."


	2. Simone

**Chapter 1:** (Lothíriel POV)  
  
It wasn't until the company stopped that I finally wiped the tears away from my eyes. The wind had blown harshly from the East over the plains of Lebinnin, carrying with it a foul smell of smoldering ash and sulfur - wind from Mordor. It had stung the eyes of all that rode in the eastern part of the land – a harsh deterrent, one of the captains had said.  
  
"All who seek to aid Minas Tirith will be penalized for their valor," he grunted, squinting his eyes in the direction of the fearsome Mountains of Shadow. "He wishes Gondor to fall."  
  
"Who wishes this?" a younger man had asked. I had not been paying attention to the conversation behind me, but this had caught my attention. The captain laughed. He was an older captain, no more than forty but his character was far older than that. His face was reddened by years traveling on horseback in harsh weather under a hot sun – probably patrolling the outer gates. He was not alone in this respect – the older captains looked years older than they really were.  
  
"The Dark Lord," he said. He took a drink from his water pouch, and then poured water fall on his dirt-stained face. The water streamed down his face, taking some of the dirt with it. "They say he is just a great eye, rebuilding his strength behind his walls of blackness. He sets his sight on the realm of Men, just as he did years ago in the time of Isilder."  
  
"Oh," the younger man replied. The captain looked at him out of the corner of his eye and tucked the empty pouch into his belt.  
  
"Do you not know the legends of your forefathers?" he asked seriously. The man squirmed under the gaze, and I moved forward to intervene.  
  
"We all know the legends," I said. "In these dark times, though, those legends are more like nightmares than bedtime stories." The captain glanced at me, then turned back to looking at the rode. The other man gave me a quick smile of thanks, then he too paid more attention to the rode than to me.  
  
"Do not heed him," my father, Prince Imrahil, had said. He rode his horse near mine, and spoke in a low whisper. "The men are nervous. Anything will put them on edge."  
  
We were barely away from Dol Amroth when this had happened. Now, we were four days later and yet still a day away from Minas Tirith. The men had grown even more nervous. Their increased silence on the long marches had proven this to me – along with the air of contagious nervousness that they seemed to exude.  
  
I wiped my eyes and looked around for any of my family. My brother Amrothos was farther ahead, discussing something with the scouts that would embark later. My father dismounted his horse to talk to one of the captains. I urged my horse towards him.  
  
"Are we stopping here?" I asked. The fact this appeared to be a random location, not one carefully chosen ahead of time, surprised me. Indeed, I had not seen it on any of the itineraries or maps that my father showed me beforehand. "It is not nightfall."  
  
"No, it is not," he replied, reaching a hand out to help me dismount, "but we will set out for Minas Tirith at dawn. We do not know what trouble lurks there as of yet, and I wish my men to be rested since we will ride hard to get there. They will raise a tent for you to sleep in soon," Father added, glancing at a group of Swan Knights that rode past.  
  
I nodded It was not the custom for men of Gondor to take women to war. I had my own tent. I gave the reigns of Duthanhol, my horse, to one of the esquires of the Prince. Turning away from him, I noticed the river nearby. My eyes stung, more so now that I had seen water, and I started towards it.  
  
"Don't go too close," I heard a voice shout behind me, "or you may fall in. And I doubt we have the time to rescue princesses from a river." I spun around to see Kelimar, my brother Erchiron's best friend, looking down at me from his horse. It was better to see Kel, I admitted to myself, than some scary-looking foot solider who only wished to ogle a lady.  
  
"I think I can handle myself around water," I said. I pulled the sleeves of my gown up around my elbows. "I'm not afraid of a river." Surprising as it was to all of us, Kel was afraid of water...hence his becoming a knight as opposed to joining the Navy like Erchiron.  
  
"Harsh, Lote, harsh," he said. He smiled at me. I looked at him, taking in his dark brown eyes and brown hair. He was a rarity in a land where most have blue eyes, and I had often found myself liking his peculiarities.  
  
"Do you not have soldiers to bother?" I asked, my cheeks growing warm under his steady gaze. Kel raised his eyebrows and nodded.  
  
"Somewhere...I thought I'd bother a princess first," he replied. "Good day, m'lady." He trotted off in search of some other distraction than me. I was disappointed that he left, but it was I who reminded him of his duties.  
  
And yet, part of me found relief with his departure.  
  
I turned towards the river – the Celos, a young solider had said as we rode towards it – and crouched down. The water was cool and tasted sweet. The sourness of Mordor had not yet come to these lands.  
  
It was because of the sourness of Mordor that the Knights of Dol Amroth had embarked. It was a journey to Minas Tirith, to the aid of the great White City, that I found myself in the middle of. And Elphir was right – why I was here was a question amongst most of the soldiers I traveled with.  
  
"She is a woman! You are taking her into battle! She is not like those wild women of the North – you have not taught her to use the sword, nor the arrow. She cannot be of any use to you!" my aunt cried once she learned I would be going to Minas Tirith with the men.  
  
"It was my own choice," I said quietly from my position on near the door. "I decided this."  
  
My aunt was speechless. Women did not ride into battle with men.  
  
I hoped I would not ride into battle with the knights, for I would not survive it.  
  
But she was right. Other than being a fast and competent rider – and not in the side-saddle way they practiced so much and prided so greatly in Gondor – my skill with bow and arrow were, well, lacking. But my skill at negotiation was not, and in the back of my mind I had thought that, perhaps, my father would use this journey as a way for me to broaden my skills. Skills unbecoming to most ladies...but skills that would be prized in a lady of the noblest blood, kin of the Stewards of Gondor, a truer daughter of Númenor than many of the noblewomen of Minas Tirith. Gain experience here, and I could do good for whoever I married.  
  
I splashed water on my face. But we had not yet reached the White City. We did not yet know what was in store for us.

* * *

"Lothíriel."  
  
I opened my eyes but saw nothing. The sun had not yet risen and my tent was dark.  
  
"Who is it?" I called out. A light moved from the outside of my tent and the flap opened. My father entered the tent, holding a lantern in his hand.  
  
"Are we departing for the White City already?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.  
  
"Not the men, no. Not yet. In an hour, perhaps." He glanced back outside before looking intently at me. "The scouts have sent word things are happening around Minas Morgul."  
  
I sat up in bed. My heart pounded hard enough to break me open. "Minas Morgul..." is all I said, my throat dry.  
  
"I am sending you ahead with a cadre of my men," he said. "You will ride full speed to Minas Tirith and let them know that we are coming."  
  
"Is Minas Tirith being attacked as well?" I asked. I wrapped the robe I had next to my cot around me as I stood.  
  
"The enemy must cross the river before any harm is done to the White City. As long as Osgiliath stands in one form or another, they are safe."  
  
"How long ago did the scouts return? How do we know Osgiliath stands?"  
  
"The enemy will not raze it to the ground," he said, "but the men at the garrison are men of Gondor. They would not see their White City in flames."  
  
"It seems like you rely too much on who they are, and not what they can do."  
  
"Faramir is there. He will not let them take Minas Tirith. The ride to Minas Tirith will be hard and the road dark. But ride, and take news of our approach to Denthor."  
  
I drew my robe tighter around me. "I will, Father, I will."  
  
Moments later I was dressed in a dark dress and cloak. As I walked towards my horse, I heard someone call my name.  
  
"Lothíriel!"  
  
I turned to see Kel gallop towards me.  
  
"Are you coming with us?" I asked as a soldier puts my horse's reigns in my hand. The camp was in chaos now that the men had been woken up – save the cadre of seven my father has waiting for me. All of them are Swan Knights, though they dressed in simple clothes akin to what Ithilien Rangers wear, not their usual polished armor.  
  
"I would not see harm come to you," he said, his voice low and with a trace of emotion. It both startled me yet seemed entirely natural. I had known Kel for a long time. It made a great deal of sense he would care for me...  
  
"Let us ride," I said. "The faster we get to Minas Tirith, the faster harm will be out of my way."  
  
We set out from the camp and were within sight of Minas Tirith before dawn's fingers stroked the sky.  
  
As we neared the city, the air grew fouler and the wind whipped around us faster than before, making it difficult for our horses stay straight. The city was not far when the rocks started to fall. Hurled up by the wind, they pounded into our backs as the wind whipped our faces. My eyes stung, the foul taste of Mordor on my tongue.  
  
I crouched low in my saddle, face pressed against Duthanhol's neck and buried in his hair. I feared a blow to the head, and my horse had to ride faster lest something happened to me.  
  
I had always been the fastest rider, but I feared it's merely my horse that was the fastest. Our horse master knew the tricks of Elvish care, and my faithful steed responded best when treated that way. I spurred my horse onwards, knowing the men would speed up as well.  
  
I felt the wind whip across my face as I sped toward Minas Tirith. The White City grew closer as I rode towards it, the rocks failing to reach as us the further we drew from Osgiliath. I can hear horns sounding.  
  
The gates were thrown open, and we rode in, reigning in our horses once they hit the cobblestone streets. I turned back to the gates and pet Duthanhol's neck to calm him down after our sprint across the Pelanor.  
  
"Princess! Princess!" The guards of the City recognized me, and I realized I had to say something.  
  
"Have all my men made it in?" I asked, looking around.  
  
"Yes, m'lady!" Kel shouted across the courtyard.  
  
"Is anyone hurt?" I asked next. Kel looked back at the men.  
  
"Scratches and cuts, that's all, Lady Lothíriel."  
  
"Take those that are hurt to the House of Healing," I said to Kel and the guards. "I am going to see the Lord Steward. He must know that Dol Amroth comes to aid the White City."  
  
Digging my heels into Dunthanol's side, I spurred him up the steep streets. A cheer rose from the motley gate crew at the news that Dol Amroth comes to aid Minas Tirith. It was not yet morning as I rode up the many levels of the city, but shopkeepers ducked out of my way nonetheless.  
  
I left my horse at the last arch. The Citadel loomed in front of me. I threw my covering off my head as the Guards of the Citadel approached. Upon seeing me walking towards them, they all took a knee in respect.  
  
"You may rise," I said, pausing to look at their chief. He nodded, and walked besides me down across the Court of the Fountain.  
  
"Lady Lothíriel, do you bring news?" He asked. I nodded, slowing my pace down. If I hurried or not, it will still be hours before the knights arrived.  
  
"I come to tell the Steward that Dol Amroth comes to aid him. Will he see, Brandil?" I asked.  
  
"I should hope so," he replied. We are at the doors. They opened before me, and I stepped into the cool, dark hall. At the end of it sat my uncle, the Lord Steward Denthtor. As I approached him, I noticed that in his hands he clutches a horn. But I did not take much notice.  
  
"Hail Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor," I said once I was a few feet from him. I dropped into a low curtsy, my head practically touching my skirts.  
  
"I see Prince Imrahil has sent his daughter to tell me he is on the way," my uncle said. I glanced up, and then slowly rose to my feet.  
  
"The Knights of Dol Amroth, along with many foot soldiers, will be at the gates of Minas Tirith in a few hours, my lord," I said. Denethor sighed.  
  
"What good will more men do? Should I send them to their deaths, just like I sent my son?" he said. For the first time I registered that the horn he held in his hands was Boromir's, the horn given to the firstborn son of the Steward.  
  
"Boromir..." I said. My cousin is dead? Surely not Boromir! Boromir was strong and brave...  
  
"You may leave now, Lady Lothíriel," Denethor said, dismissing me. I nodded, and curtseyed again, heading to the door where the guard awaited me.  
  
"That could have been worse," he said.  
  
"True. I might not have been allowed to speak."  
  
"Shall I see you to your family's quarters?"  
  
"Yes." As we headed across the Court of the Fountain to the narrow lane that houses the guest quarters, I glanced up at the sky. A growing cloud of darkness seemed to come from the East, rising over Osgiliath.  
  
"What happened to Boromir?" I asked.  
  
He sighed. "I do not know, my lady. His horn washed up in Osgiliath and Faramir brought it to him."  
  
"Oh, Faramir," I sighed, as my concern for my older cousin grew. The threat from Minas Morgul had caused me to worry about the garrison, and, though Boromir is dead, he is now at peace, and I do not have to worry about his current safety. It is not yet time for mourning.  
  
"And his body? Boromir's?" I asked as the guard and I entered the cool lane.  
  
"It was not found," he said. 


	3. Lady of Bread and Honey

**Chapter Two: Lady of Bread and Honey  
**  
It had been a long day, and when I had arrived at the house where we boarded, I was exhausted. I had thought my time with both the orcs and the Ents had taught me things about stamina, but I was wrong.  
  
The house was dark when I entered it, and I had known that Gandalf and I were the only ones who were in these quarters, so I was surprised when I heard a voice greet me.  
  
"Are you the _perian_ they are all talking about?"  
  
I looked up, searching the entranceway to find the voice that had spoken to me. I found the voice had come from a young woman standing at the top of the curved staircase. She had long brown hair as curly as any Hobbit's, but she was not a hobbit for she was tall and slender. As she descended the stairs, she spoke to me again.  
  
"The halfling, from the North?" she asked. I nodded.  
  
"Yes, my lady, I am a halfling" I replied. I glanced up, eager to see what the lady would say in reply.  
  
She nodded, a smile on her face. She seemed quite friendly, and I found myself smiling in her presence.  
  
"I have heard rumours that the Prince of the Halflings has come to Minas Tirith to fight for its freedom from darkness," she said. "I assume, however, this is merely a rumour, for a prince of another people would not wear the livery of the Steward so proudly."  
  
"Indeed, my lady, I wear these vestments proudly, such that I may serve in memory of one who died for my cause," I replied, trying to act as formal as I could in front of a lady. Her clear eyes narrowed as she listened to my words.  
  
"Who is it you speak of that you wish to remember?" the lady asked. I noticed that she gripped the railing tighter as she spoke.  
  
"Boromir of Gondor, son of the Steward, my lady," I said. At this, I saw her frown, though she quickly hid her sadness behind words.  
  
"So, one of my questions is answered. But I feel rude, to be asking you such questions while you are standing. You must be tired. I heard you are staying in this house..."  
  
"Yes, with Gandalf," I told her. She nodded, and gestured for me to ascend the stairs.  
  
"My family is as well. Are you hungry? I have some bread and honey, and you would do me a great honor if you kept me company, for my family has not yet arrived and I am both worried and lonely," she said to me. I smiled.  
  
"Of course, my lady!" I replied, my stomach growling.  
  
I followed her up the stairs to the second level. Our rooms were on the third, but on the second were two hallways, and between them a large open room filled with chairs and tables and bookshelves. There, like she said, was a loaf of crusty bread and a jar of honey. The view from the room looked out at the city below, and I knew that, if we were to look out, we would see nothing but darkness – a city in preparation for war.  
  
"Please sit down," she gestured, taking a seat herself in a chair near the table. As I sat down, she took up a knife and cut me a thick slice off the loaf, then a smaller one for herself. I stole a glance at her. She was very beautiful, her skin only a little darker than the elven women I had met, and she had tiny freckles spread across her nose.  
  
"What is your name?" she asked after I had finished with the honey.  
  
"Peregrin Took," I replied, "though my family always called me Pippin."  
  
She nodded and blinked her large grey eyes. "I am Lothìriel," she said. "I must admit, I had not seen one of your kind until today. Thusfar, I had only read about you in books."  
  
"Well, we Shire-folk tend to stay in the Shire," I said, taking a bite of the bread. "If it weren't for this adventure, I never would have-"  
  
I silenced myself. I was not supposed to talk about Frodo, nor the Ring. I had probably said too much already.  
  
"I am not an enemy," she said quietly. "But I will not ask you to speak further, if you have been told to not mention certain things. I will say I know little of this adventure, save Boromir was on it, and you have told me that already."  
  
"You knew Boromir?" I asked.  
  
"I was his cousin," she replied. "I only learned today that he was dead." She paused, contemplating the bread she held in her hand for a moment. "I thank you for pledging fealty in an effort to honor him, but I'm not sure that was the wisest decision."  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"We are at war, or we will be soon," she said, her eyes meeting mine. "At times like these, only those that wish to be heroes pledge their lives to the sword." She paused again. "I guess your heart must be larger than yourself, Pippin, and in case you take my words to be of reproach, they really are not."  
  
"Why are you here, my-Lothìriel?" I asked.  
  
"Much like you, I chose to come. I hoped to be of some help. Now I wait for my father and brother to arrive."  
  
"Who is your father?" I asked.  
  
"Crown Prince Imrahil, of Dol Amroth," Lothìriel said. "We are the kin of the Steward of Gondor, and when Gondor calls for aid, we come."  
  
I nodded, biting into my bread. I had not met a great deal of ladies on this trip, save the Lady Arwen, and the Lady Galadriel, but they were different. This lady – Lothìriel – seemed to be different to me, and not only because she did not talk in riddles. She seemed to be worried about this war – more worried than anyone I had seen so far, ladies and soldiers alike.  
  
I yawned, and Lothìriel laughed.  
  
"I am sorry – I must apologize for keeping you up. Thank you for talking to me," she said. "I know it has been a long day for you, and-"  
  
Downstairs, a door slammed and I heard voices. A smile crossed Lothìriel's face.  
  
"My family has arrived – please, stay and meet them," she said, rising. I stood as well, and soon voices drifted up the stairs and soon, a man entered the room. He was tall, with sharp grey eyes that reminded me of Legolas, and long dark blond hair. He wore silver armor, and carried under his arm a helmet with what looked like wings on it. He was older than Boromir, and I took him to be the Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth.  
  
"Father!" Lothìriel said, stepping forward to greet him. She embraced him, and he laughed.  
  
"I see I have a fine welcome for me here," he said. "I see also that you arrived in one piece."  
  
"Mordor did put forth some effort in detaining us," she replied.  
  
Behind them came a young man, taller and lankier than Lothiriel, with the same sharp grey eyes as the father, but with dark brown hair. He reminded me of Boromir.  
  
"I see you made it in one piece, _Lote_," he said, embracing Lothìriel as well. Then he saw me.  
  
"A Halfling?" he asked, drawing closer.  
  
"This is Pippin, and he is from the Shire," Lothìriel said, returning to my side. "This is my brother, Amrothos, and my father, Imrahil. Pippin has sworn fealty to Lord Denethor in return for the sacrifice Boromir made protecting him."  
  
The eyes of both men grew wide, and they looked at Lothìriel, and then at me, and then back to Lothìriel.  
  
"I take it you did not see Denethor?" she asked quietly.  
  
"We did not," Imrahil replied. "We arrived too late. We are meeting with Mithrandir after we settle in."  
  
Lothìriel nodded, and I yawned.  
  
"Oh my, Pippin, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Lothìriel exclaimed, and I shook my head.  
  
"No, my lady, I've just been to enough meetings today that the thought of it makes me tired. But I will take my leave," I said, walking towards the stairs. "Nice to have met you. Good night," I said to Imrahil and Amrothos. As I started up the stairs, I heard Imrahil say "Boromir?"  
  
"He is dead, Father," Lothìriel replied.

* * *

The door rattled and, though the person closing it was being careful, I still woke up.  
  
"Gandalf?" I called out. I heard his deep laugh from the other side of the room.  
  
"Yes, Pippin, it is just me...I have finished discussing matters with the royal family from Dol Amroth, which I have learned you met today."  
  
"Yes," I said, jumping out of bed and walking towards the lit common room. Gandalf had placed his staff down, and was seated at the table. "They were very nice."  
  
"'Nice'," Gandalf says, chuckling. "Indeed, Pippin, they are 'nice' folk. I have a great deal of respect for Imrahil and his family, and even more respect for the fact that he brought his two youngest to Minas Tirith."  
  
"The Lady Lothìriel introduced me to them," I said, sitting down in a chair near Gandalf. "She was very...beautiful. And smart, so I thought."  
  
"Yes, the Lady Lothìriel," Gandalf said. "A very good young girl, and very intelligent as well, as you said. Her father does not believe that women were any different from men, and she has benefited greatly by that." He paused to look out the window at the dark. "I am quite happy by her appearance here, because she has an important part to play in all that will happen."  
  
"She does?" I asked.  
  
"Yes, though her role will not be with the sword, or with the ax. Indeed, not all roles in a war are in battle. She will be needed during the conflict, but she will be more useful after than before."  
  
"I see," I said. "Well, I liked her."  
  
"You like anyone that feeds you, Peregrin Took," Gandalf replied.Author's Notes:  
  
_Perian_ - Sindarian of 'Halfling' 

_Lote_ – Quenya for 'Flower'. The Sindarian is 'loth' but that's hardly an acceptable nickname now is it, precious? ;)


	4. Afraid of the Dark

_Same deal. Read and Review, please!_

****

**Chapter 3: Afraid of the Dark (**_Lothìriel POV_**)  
**  
Darkness covered Minas Tirith. The sun did not shine down and light the city like a polished shell. Instead, darkness blanketed it in fear and shadow. And we knew that this is only the beginning.  
  
I rested my head against the cool marble. They had been in there for what seemed like hours. When my father had woken me, it had not been day. Now it was near noon.  
  
I was angry. I was woken for this? To be left alone, seated outside of a council chamber? Granted, I could have gone back to sleep but the anger at being disregarded had festered inside me, making me only able to toss and turn.  
  
I had never been turned away from the most important councils. I had been on war councils, peace councils, signings of treaties and the most trivial city matters. Once I reached the age of twelve, I was allowed to sit in all of the meetings just as my brothers had. My father never thought anything of it – I would be educated and understand the workings of government and politics. I always believed it was so that if I should marry a nobleman or a prince, I would have knowledge of the intricate workings and aid my husband. He never said anything to that effect, merely gave me all the books I asked for and answered all my questions.  
  
The men who allowed me in the councils would nod their heads. Most of them had sons a few years older than me, and the prospect of having an intelligent wife well-versed in these measures seemed to them most rewarding. Memories of the great queens of Númenor danced in their minds as they saw me read the papers my father would pass to me.  
  
I never complained. I was excited to be privy to these meetings, and happy my father allowed me in them. And, it turns out, that aided my involvement in many affairs in Dol Amroth.  
  
But no. Mithrandir would have allowed me in, as would the other captains that were at the council. But instead, it was my uncle that banished me.  
  
"War is not a woman's business," he said hastily. "Women are too fragile to handle the damage it causes."  
  
I glared at him as he spoke these words, anger held in check only by the look in his eyes. Sharp insults in various tongues threatened to spew forth from my mouth, a thousand arguments about my experience in council equaling that of any of the captains piled up in my head. But I did not fight him.  
  
I stepped back. "As the Lord of the City wishes," I said, curtseying. To humour Denethor would prove to be most useful in the end – I knew this lesson well.  
  
The door was slammed in my face.  
  
"How long have you been out here?"  
  
I glanced over and saw that Amrothos had taken a seat opposite me in the hallway. I shrugged my shoulders.  
  
"Several hours."  
  
"Lothìriel..."  
  
"I have no where else to be." I looked up at Amrothos. "Shouldn't you be with the rest of the Swan Knights?"  
  
"Likewise, we have nothing to do."  
  
"I could be outside, but I see it grows darker every moment and I do not wish to be out there."  
  
"I do not either. So I came to find you. At least you have a book," he said, looking down at a well-read copy of the stories of Númenor that sat in my lap. "Have you eaten?"  
  
"Oddly enough, I am not hungry," I replied. The door of the room opened, and I prepared to rise. If it was my uncle, I would curtsey. If it was my father, I would run to him, desperate for news. But the only person that left was the halfling, Pippin. He held a silver pitcher in his arms and it looked to overwhelm him.  
  
"My lady," Pippin said, bowing as best as he could with the pitcher. He turned to Amrothos and repeated the action. Amrothos does his best royal bow for the one the people of the City have been calling 'Prince of the Halflings'.  
  
"Would you like me to take care of that?" Amrothos asked, gesturing to the empty pitcher. Pippin shook his head.  
  
"I am much stronger than I look, and I daresay that Lord Denethor has given me this job, and if I am to fulfill my job, I must do this on my own. I thank you, though," he said to Amrothos.  
  
"How is the meeting?" I asked. "Are they discussing anything interesting?"  
  
Pippin looked embarrassed. "I don't really know, m'lady. Mostly things about Mordor and Sauron and dark things. There is a great deal of arguing, I will tell you that. I'm very hungry, though, and it's been distracting to have food come in and out."  
  
"Are they almost done?" Amrothos asked. Pippin shook his head.  
  
"I don't think so-"  
  
The door slammed open and Mithrandir stormed out. Amrothos and I looked at each other. To have approach a wizard when he was obviously in a bad mood was perhaps a good way to die...but both of us were so starving for information right now we would obviously risk it.  
  
"Thank you, Pippin," I said as Amrothos made a quick dart towards Mithrandir's retreating figure. I followed on his heels.  
  
"Mithrandir!" Amrothos called out. The wizard stopped and turned around. We were in the main throne room of the Citadel, and the look on his face was more amusement than anything else.  
  
"I suppose you wish to know what happened in the council you were not allowed into," he said, a sly smile on his face. I nodded my head.  
  
"If you would allow some small information...I think it would satisfy our needs for the time being," I said. Mithrandir sighed.  
  
"I am in a hurry but very well – your uncle is mad. Do not listen to what he says, for he cares only for Gondor, and forgets that this world contains more than this White City and its scattered settlements. Now, I must be off. There is little time to waste."  
  
We watched his retreating figure with great interest until he disappeared through the great doors and we caught a glimpse of the growing darkness outside.  
  
My stomach did a funny little jump and I felt uneasy. I had never felt this way before.  
  
I realized I was afraid.  
  
"Denethor? Mad? We already knew this," Amrothos quipped. I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. As he grabbed my arm, he looked at me.  
  
"Are you alright, Lote? You seem upset."  
  
"I am frightened, Amrothos. Our entire world as we know it could be wiped out in a single stroke," I said, fear creeping into my voice. I was never frightened – I had little to be frightened of. I had never gone to war, or been threatened by anything sort of harm save what the dark cloud promised to give.  
  
"I am afraid too, Lote," he said. He squeezed my hand lightly.  
  
"Do you think Faramir will make it back?" I asked. "I worry –"  
  
"I know you do. The entire city worries about him," Amrothos said. "Somehow, I think that has to count for something."  
  
Suddenly the walls began to close in on me. I could not breathe and the darkness felt as if it will suffocate me. I had to go outside, though it scared me to look up at that sky. I could not control the emotions washing over me.  
  
I started to walk towards the door. If I could get outside and see the sky again, maybe I would not be afraid. Maybe I would be fine then.  
  
"Lothìriel?" Amrothos called my name, but I kept walking. I heard his steps as he rushed to catch up to me. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I will not be frightened," I said. I reached the doors and stood in front of them. Huge and made of iron, created by our fore-fathers to protect this Citadel.  
  
"But who can save us now," I whispered. I pushed them open.  
  
Amrothos and I stepped out into the courtyard.  
  
"It is worse than I imagined," I heard my brother whisper.  
  
The sky was as dark and the clouds above us were churning. A cold and violent wind savagely whipped across our faces. And from the east, smoke rose from Osgilliath.  
  
_Faramir._  
  
I gathered up my skirts and ran across the courtyard to the edge of the cliff. Smoke rose and the wind whipped it up to the clouds. It seems as if the dead were rising and becoming part of the ominous danger that had befallen Gondor.  
  
"How long?" Amrothos asked. "How long until we must suffer to fight? How long will this curse be on our country?"  
  
He did not ask this question to me. He asked it to the wind, so that perhaps the wind would carry it to it's evil master.  
  
"I fear this battle," I said, looking at the City below us. The people are frightened. They had been frightened all week. Denethor had not sent his women and children away, or if he had a large number has wagered to stay in this city and gamble with their lives. I feared for them, for all of them. No one knew what would happen.  
  
We did not begin to imagine what would follow the darkness, for if we imagined that, we saw our deaths.


	5. Grey on Grey

_Author's Note: Thank you reviewers (especially Eokat) for showing me at someone is reading this. It means a lot._  
  
_As always, I am open to any reviews, be they flames or words of encouragement._

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**Chapter 4 – Grey on Grey** (Faramir POV)  
  
I had just finished dressing myself when I heard a knock on the door.  
  
I did not need to guess who it was. I knew my cousins as well as I knew my own brother, and the fact that I had just finishing dressing told me that it was Lothìriel. Amrothos or any of the other boys would have come much earlier or much later. Lothìriel would have known that a meal and bath would relax me enough so that I would want company. She had impecible timing.  
  
I had heard my uncle had brought my cousins to Minas Tirith from Mithrandir, and had caught a quick glimpse of them on my hurried rush into the Citadel. But both Amrothos and Lothìriel remained absent from the council meeting, nor were they outside the chamber to greet us when we exited.  
  
I opened the door to find Lothìriel standing in the hallway, looking quite anxious and quite a great deal taller than last I had seen her. Upon seeing me, she smiled and went forward to embrace me.  
  
"I knew I picked the right time – I'm sure you smelled dreadful earlier," she remarked. "As lû ann, Faramir."  
  
"El uir suilonen," I replied, holding her out at arm's length. "You certainly have grown up." Indeed, gone was the young teenager with arms and legs too long for her body – a trait of the House of Dol Amroth Boromir and I had bemoaned. Instead I saw a tall young woman, her mass of dark curls pulled back from a fair face. "Please, come in."  
  
"I have grown up," she said, walking into the room, "and you have grown older." Her grey eyes – the same grey as my eyes – fell upon my face and I looked away. I could not meet them, for they asked me questions I did not think I could answer.  
  
"Will you eat something?" I said, glancing to my right. The table is covered with a modest meal of meat and cheese and bread– the best we could do at the time. As son of the Steward, I could have asked for more but I did not. Lothìriel shook her head.  
  
"We ate earlier. I'll keep you company, nevertheless," she said, sitting down. I took the chair opposite her and started to pile food onto my plate.  
  
"I had assumed your father would come," I told her. "I was surprised when I saw you here."  
  
"I was offered the chance to stay in Dol Amroth, but there were rumours of pirates attacking Belfalas, and Father grew worried. He gave me the option, but I'll admit that I knew when he came to speak with me, it was clear what he wished me to do." Lothìriel picked up a book. "What's this one about?"  
  
"It's about Tar-Calmacil. You can read it, if you wish," I replied as I watched my cousin flip through the pages quickly. We had always been kindred spirits since the dayshe had cried and cried so much in Boromir's arms that he quickly gave her to me, and in my arms her cries died down. She was a motherless one-month old babe, and I was an awkward sixteen year-old, in Dol Amroth for my aunt's funeral. I had felt sorry for my cousins, to have lost a mother. I knew that grief as well.  
  
As a child, Lothìriel had attached herself to my legs when I came to visit. She was a voracious reader, interested in everything and anything there was to be interested in. She would listen to me tell her stories of the ancient Númenor, and she would tell me the random trivia facts she had learned that day. She was the sister I never had, the young child who seemed to admire me greatly.  
  
"Do you expect to fight in battle?" I asked jokingly. Lothìriel closed the book and placed it back on the table, laughing.  
  
"I am to assist the healers in the House of Healing," she says. "I have been studying herbal remedies for the last year, and would like to try my hand at it, if for a while. But..." she paused. "I'll admit, as much as I dislike conflict, this war intrigues me. It is so unlike any prior conflict – save the great war of Elendil and Isildir - that I am glad I'm here."  
  
She fell silent after this, her mind preoccupied by some thought she really does not want to vocalize. It was a trait of Lothìriel – to have said something, and then be inspired to think further on it.  
  
"What's on your mind?" I asked quietly.  
  
"Nothing, really," she said. An embarrassed blush colored her cheeks and she shook her head as if to shake off embarrassment before meeting my eyes again. "You're troubled, cousin."  
  
My father, I thought. She means the confrontation between my father and me earlier today.  
  
"Some things weigh heavily on my mind. Things like this war...the people involved in it. Like you, I do not like fighting."  
  
"This I know."  
  
I sighed. So many things I wanted to tell her, so many things I wanted to say that I couldn't. I did not think she knew I was going back to Osgiliath, and I did not want her to worry. She was young and fair and, should this war end favorably, she would have a future of peace. We would all have a future of peace and if I could bring peace to Gondor, even at the cost of my own life, I would do it.  
  
"He does love you," Lothìriel said, breaking the silence. "He doesn't know how to show it."  
  
"They all say that – Mithrandier says it," I replied. But does he really?  
  
"Love is different for everyone," she said quietly. "It takes different forms. It exists where you least expect it."  
  
"Do you preach this to everyone, Lote?" I asked bitterly.  
  
"Only those that need to hear it the most," she replied. "Changing subjects, what exactly is going on with this war? I hear bits and pieces and none are sufficient enough to keep me satisfied."  
  
"Always inquisitive," I said, smiling. The topic has interested me, yet my active participation has kept my mind busy on other matters. Lothìriel does not laugh at this, but offered me a small smile instead.  
  
"From what I was able to discern, Isildir's Bane has been found by one of those perian and it is being dealt with. Meanwhile, Sauron wishes to launch an attack on Minas Tirith, and orcs have taken over Osgiliath, driving you out. Rohan was attacked by Sarumon, but Ents – Ents, Faramir! They do exist! – have taken care of Orthanc. Oh, and apparently Corsairs are sailing from the South to Belfalas but I mentioned that already," she said in a whir of words. Even though she disliked war, I saw that she was interested in all this nonetheless.  
  
"I think you've covered most of it," I reply, "save for those mercenaries coming to Mordor, and whatever dark terrors Sauron is saving for the city itself." I paused. "We do not have enough arms. Every day I hope that Theoden of Rohan will bring his Rohirrim here, but if they are being attacked as well I cannot see that they would come help us."  
  
"We cannot lose hope," Lothìriel said. "Remember the days of Cirion and Eorl, Faramir. Perhaps we shall see those alliances renewed. But...I have heard rumours from that young one – Pippin – that a king will return."  
  
The words did not have the same affect on me as they did the first time I heard them. "I have heard that too, Lothìriel, but should a king return and claim his throne, how willingly will my father give it? He is not well, and it worries me."  
  
"I know," she said. "But it will also depend on the manner in which he returns."  
  
_That will depend on the manner in which you return._ I shivered as the words my father spoke to me earlier are echoed in Lothìriel's. She could not have known, yet I did not have a chance to respond to her questioning glance as the door opened suddenly, and a mildly drunk Amrothos sauntered into the room.  
  
I had not seen him for several years, and was not surprised to find a tall and thin young man replacing the awkward youth of years past.  
  
"Sorry to bother you - sorry to let Lothìriel bother you but I'm hoping to make amends for that now. I've come to take her – and you – to a nice little tavern on the third level." Amrothos looked up, proud and slightly inebriated.  
  
"Tavern?" Lothìriel asked. Her brothered nodded vigorously and pulled her out of her seat by her arms.  
  
"You wantta come?" he asked. "You're already coming, Faramir! T's not even an option. E'll consider it a royal reunion of sorts for this family needs more fun!"  
  
"And when better to have fun when the darkness is breathing down our necks and we have other obligations?" Lothìriel said, taking Amrothos' face between her hands and looking him in the eye.  
  
"The Knights 're there already!" Amrothos exclaimed and Lothìriel laughed.  
  
I stood apart from them, weighing my options. I did not wish to go to battle ill from drinking the night before, but if I stayed here my mood would sour considerably. Also, I knew that Lothìrielhad frequented taverns with her brothers, and that quite a few battles had been waged outside these establishments due to Lothìriel's enjoyment of male attention. Indeed, I almost expected I would be needed to stop the hapless men enchanted by my cousin from coming to arms.  
  
However, the company of my family was much preferred to my own, and before the eve of battle I would take that.  
  
"I'll go only to protect a lady's honour. If there is no need for that..."  
  
She paused and looked up at Amrothos. She opened her mouth to speak, and a smile started to form in the corners of her mouth.  
  
"But I'll have to change," she said. "Something a little more low-cut, I assume, since the whores of Minas Tirith are the ones always buttoned up!"  
  
Amrothos let out shouts of pleasure and lifted her up and swung her around.  
  
"Amrothos!" Lothìriel yelled, laughing. "Faramir, will you let him do this to me?"  
  
Amrothos turned. The not-possibly-heavy burden in his arms squirmed. "Do what?"  
  
I looked at my two cousins as Lothìriel started to pound Amrotho's back. I know that they are all I have left now, and they would not abandon me.  
  
"Put her down," I told Amrothos, who obeyed me. Then, I approached Lothiriel, and smoothed the shoulders of her dress.  
  
"I'm sorry, that was inappropriate of him," I said. I took a step forward and I threw her over my shoulder as she kicked and screamed. I turned to Amrothos.  
  
"You get kicked less this way," I said. "The trick is to pin the legs down near your chest." Amrothos nodded.  
  
"So you did learn something useful by watching us," he replied. Lothiriel by now had collapsed into a state of giggles.  
  
"That's why you have family," I replied. "To learn things."

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Elvish from the fantabulous Silcawen Uvanimor-dreamingfifi's Elvish Phrase translation.  
  
As lû ann – It has been too long

El uir suilonen - You are always welcome here


	6. Interlude All Shall Fade

_Same as always...please review. I'm open to all comments._

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**Interlude – All Shall Fade (Lothìriel POV)**  
  
"Wake up, sleepyhead!"  
  
I opened my eyes to find Amrothos standing over me.  
  
"Man?" I asked, surprised and alarmed. He was dressed in the dark blue livery of the Swan Knights, and as I sat up on bed I noticed that he wore his sword as well.  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked, reaching for my dressing gown which hung beside my bed.  
  
"Nothing is wrong," Amrothos replied. "I just thought you would want to see the troops leave the city to go to Osgiliath."  
  
My brother's words settle in my stomach like stone. The night before, we had taken Faramir out to a tavern and after much coaxing while he was under the influence, I thought I had talked him out of risking his life for his father.  
  
I should have known better. Stubbornness ran in Denethor's line.  
  
"What does he seek to prove?" I asked Amrothos. "Running off to battle will not get Denethor to praise him highly."  
  
"No, Amrothos said bitterly, "it will not get Faramir what he wishes. But we can at least give him the honor of watching as they go out."  
  
I nodded. "I will dress quickly. Where is adar?"  
  
"He is at the gates. He failed to dissuade Faramir." Amrothos placed a hand on the door. "Dark times, Lothìriel. Dark Times."

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It was an amazing sight to see the soldiers of Gondor as they marched through the levels of the city. The sun shone off their silver helmets and their movement reminded me of water – of a trickle of stream traveling through the levels of the city far below as they flowed out.  
  
There was a lump at the bottom of my stomach, and I could feel the heat of the sun as it beat down on me.  
  
"Look!" Amrothos said, and leaned against the stone wall. We were on the upper level. We could see the men on horseback as they started to ride towards the captured city.  
  
"This is stupid. If the city is overrun –"  
  
"They will meet a horrible end," he said. I leaned against him as they start to pick up speed, galloping towards the unseen enemy. Below me I knew other citizens of the White City are crowded on the walls, watching.  
  
My stomach constricted with fear. The riders would be outnumbered – they had to be. There was no sign of Rohan, like Mithrandier hinted at. These people were watching their last hope. I was watching my last hope. When the city fell...  
  
I heard a sound. Some riders fell. More noise. Many fell. There were shouts of pain, and I turned away as our men were cut down. I walked a few paces away from the wall. I fell on my knees, and vomited.


	7. Once More Into the Breech

_Thank you again for reading/reviewing. Please feel free to leave reviews - I really appreciate them. Next chapter will feature the arrival of Éomer._

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**Chapter 5: Once More Into the Breech** _(Lothíriel POV)_  
  
The Citadel doubled as a tomb. It did not let life out, and nor foster it inside. I felt the very life within me wane as I sat waiting - for what, I did not know.  
  
"You grow anxious," my uncle said. His words echoed throughout the hollow throne room, startling me. I placed the book I had not been reading in my lap.  
  
"I grow weary of being inside," I replied. He raised his goblet to his mouth and took a sip of wine.  
  
"I grow weary, too, but it is better than watching the growing dark," he said. I nodded and looked away.  
  
Amrothos and my father were gone – off with the knights and soldiers somewhere. After my incident this morning, where I proceeded to lose first my breakfast and then my consciousness, I woke to find myself alone in our chambers. Were it not for the healer sent to care for me, who had just entered the room as I sat up, I would have had no idea what was going on. No note was left, only instructions given to the guards that I was to be taken to the Citadel and not allowed out. I had no idea where my family went, nor the condition of my cousin - did he survive the attack? – nor anything else.  
  
My uncle looked from me to the horn of Gondor - Boromir's horn - that lay in his lap, then back to the goblet of wine at his left hand. He did not speak to me, nor I to him, save for rare exchanges, venting frustration at the dark sky which threatened to devour the city. It was in these exchanges that I remembered my uncle was still human, yet not human enough to regain any of my trust or respect. My resentment was too deeply engrained to be broken.  
  
I did not dare to speak to Pippin, who stood at attention across from me. He was tired and I heard his small stomach growling. I knew that my uncle heard it as well, but if he did not do anything, I could not do anything. I merely attempted to feign interest in a book while straining to hear noises from outside.  
  
My stomach churned. Perhaps I had eaten something bad for breakfast, but the true cause I believed to be nervousness. I had never been very nervous before, since most situations of a princess in court are handled by her own common sense or her father's intervention. Uncertainly was something I was not familiar with in my regulated life. I did not welcome it, especially when it brought death and destruction behind.  
  
Danger was not something I had been in the middle of, and I had walked into this willingly. It had been my choice. At this moment, however, I was not sure I was happy about it.  
  
My mind was flooded with disastrous scenarios. Faramir dead, my family slaughtered by orcs and men from the South, Dol Amroth razed to the ground, myself trapped on the highest level of the White City, furthest away from the danger but the last to be reached while the white tree of the king burned. No food, shelter, left alone to die at the hands of those who did Sauron's will. Rohan did not come, nor did the promised king.  
  
I closed my eyes, pressing them tightly together in order to stop the tears from flowing. I had rarely cried before, I would not cry now.  
  
Suddenly Denethor stood up, spilling the wine on the marble stairs. I thought of blood, blood on the city walls and I shuddered. The horn fell out of his lap, and he appeared to be listening for something. I stood, too, wondering what sudden event had made him so aware.  
  
"My lord?" I asked.  
  
"Now is the hour," he said. He turned and leveled a mad glare at me. "The darkness awaits."  
  
He headed to the door with long strides that echoed across this hall. Pippin looked at me, unsure if he should follow his Lord.  
  
"My lady?" he asked. I wished to smile, to make him feel more at ease that I felt, but I feared that in the darkness I could not feign hope.  
  
"Let us go," I said. He looked so much like a child that I wished to pick him up and hold him in my arms, protecting him from what lay outside that door. But he was older than me, and had faced Nazgûl and Uruk-hai and dangers that did not exist inside my marble walls.  
  
We proceeded to the door, where the guards open it and allowed us out into the deep dark.  
  
In front of us I saw my father. Amrothos is nowhere around, but my father stood off to the side of a billet, looking incredibly grim and worried. His eyes found mine immediately as I paused in the doorway, unsure of the situation I was walking into.  
  
There was a body lying on a billet on the ground. Denethor, who had been lying over it, had now walked away as if he was in a drunken stupor. I could clearly see whose body it was.  
  
"Faramir!" I yelled. The guards in front of me parted as I ran towards him. I fell down at his side, placing a hand on his face. He was burning with fever. There was an arrow in his side.  
  
"He is alive," I heard Pippin whisper. I noticed he, too, was on the ground looking at Faramir. I glanced up at my father.  
  
"I will get a healer – they will know what to do," I said as I stood up.  
  
"Take my horse," my father said, stepping forward. His voice was strained and worried. "Get a healer, but do not come back if they do not think it best. If they need you-"  
  
"I will stay," I replied. I glanced over at Denethor, raving like a lunatic, before racing towards the gate, and my father's horse. There were more important matters at stake than my uncle's words.  
  
The city was in chaos as I rode to the Houses of Healing. Women and children – women and children who should not be in this city – stepped back from the street as we rode past. I heard frantic cries of 'Princess! My Lady!' was well as pleas of information about my cousin's state. I ignored them – I needed to get to the healers.  
  
I reached the Houses of Healing and ran into the building breathless.  
  
"The Lord Faramir is in trouble!" I yelled. The healers looked up, concerned, and stopped folding their bandages. Some froze mid-step to look at me, the disheveled princess at their doorstep.  
  
"What is it, my lady?" a young one asked.  
  
"My cousin has been hurt," I said. "They brought him back from Osgiliath...please..." I heard my words turn into a frantic plea, and tears swelled in my eyes. "Please, he needs help."  
  
"Come here, my child, and sit for a moment," an older healer said. She gestured to an empty bed.  
  
"There is no time to delay," I said, brushing past her. "I must find the warden or someone who can help my cousin." Every minute I wasted, Faramir came closer to death.  
  
"My lady, we will send someone, please calm down," someone said to me.  
  
"How can I stay calm at a time like this!" I yelled. "Faramir needs help or he will die!" At the final word I felt tears flood out of my eyes, and I hurriedly brushed them away.  
  
"And help he will get. Please calm down, we will send help," the older woman said to me. "Elsbet, go find the warden. My Lady Lothíriel, please calm yourself down."  
  
"As long as I know you will send someone, I will be happy." As I turned to face the door, I saw it was blocked by another healer. How many of them were there?  
  
"Will you not let me go?" I asked the healer by the door. I noticed she was shaking. Something had gone wrong during my brief time there...  
  
"My lady, I cannot let you go," she said, placing a hand on my arm. I shook her off.  
  
"I must return to the Citadel – why do you delay me?" I asked, annoyance building up inside me and threatening to take hold. Maintaining any sort of composure was suddenly taking a great deal of effort – not that my tears were helping me save any face.  
  
"Because, my lady, I -" she started, and then a loud sound from outside cut her off. She turned toward the window.  
  
"What is outside?" I asked, fear started to crawl from it's hiding place and regain control of my stomach.  
  
The woman said nothing as silent tears start to form in her blue eyes. I turned away from her and hurried past the healers out into the gardens, where I could look down from the walls above the city.  
  
As I reached the wall, my heart stopped.  
  
Below us were troops – massive troops of orcs gathered on the Pelennor. I saw what looked like catapults, and battering rams, and trolls pushing each from Osgiliath to Minas Tirith. Below us, I knew, the soldiers and knights saw the same thing – the roars of the orcs as they chant something vulgar, their doom written on the wind that still blew through the darkened sky.  
  
"They shall not break the wall," I said though no one was around me. "That was made by the men of Númenor. It is impossible to break."  
  
Suddenly a catapult set free its load, and I heard as it met with the stone on one of the city's levels. Something broke, and I heard the remnants of a building or a house tumbled down onto the level below it. A trebuchet from Minas Tirith launched something out of the city onto the field below. I saw it as it landed between a battalion of orcs, squashing some in the process.  
  
"That, my lady, is why we must keep you here," a voice said from the doorway. I turned to see the warden of the House looking at me. "We are not ordered to. It is merely a pledge to keep any that wanders into our House during times of war safe."  
  
I nodded, still in shock at the battle below me. "My cousin – he needs aid."  
  
"We have sent a younger healer to the Citadel," he said. "We have also sent a dispatch to your father to tell him where you are – "  
  
A foul shriek pierced the air, and as soon as I heard it I ran inside. Behind me I felt a gush of air. The warden grabbed me and pulled me in, slamming the door behind me.  
  
"Nazgûl," I whispered, looking at him. He nodded. We heard the shriek again, and movement outside the door. Then it was gone.  
  
I leaned back against the wall as my body went limp. I was in the House of Healing. Nazgûl were flying around the city. I could hear their cries through the stone walls, and they pierced my heart. My father and brother were somewhere down there with the troops. My cousin would die of fever if he was not aided. Orcs were attacking Minas Tirith and if they made it this far –  
  
I felt wetness on my cheeks. I was crying. Not just a few solitary tears, not just wetness. I slid to the ground as sobs wracked my body.  
  
I could not help it. All was lost. There were too few men. Theoden would not come. All was lost.  
  
"Lady Lothíriel."  
  
I blinked. The warden was now standing above me.  
  
"Lady, if you fear than we all will fear. The Nazgûl thrive on fear. I know we are frightened, but we must not lose hope. All is not yet lost." He smiled at me. "We still have Mithrandir. We still have the Swan Knights. We still have hope.  
  
I nodded, unsure of what to say. He reached down to help me up.  
  
"There is food in the kitchen if you wish to eat some. We must be ready for the wounded. Please – help us."  
  
I nodded. He was right. Hope was not lost – yet. The battle had just begun. Perhaps the forces of good would triumph. All was not yet lost. We had only begun to fight.


	8. Bloodflower

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Author's Notes: A great big 'thank you' to all that have read and reviewed. It means a lot to me. This is the part where Éomer enters the equation. It may be my last for a while, since I'll be going out of the country for a week. I want to do some sort of 'leave feedback inspire me to post more sooner!' taunt but part of me doubts I'd get a response. Anyway...since this entire chapter takes place in the Houses of Healing, I direct-quoted Tolkien himself. From the Chapter 'The Houses of Healing' in 'The Return of the King', pages 846 and 848. I'll dedicate this chapter to Eokat, who has been a wonderful encouraging force with constant reviewing - I tried to keep as true to Tolkien as possible for you and I hope you enjoy it. _

_Enjoy (though it seems incredibly long!) and please leave reviews!_

**Chapter 6: Bloodflower** _(Lothíriel POV)_  
  
He mumbled in his sleep and spoke of dark things.  
  
I held his hand and placed the wet cloth on his fevered brow. The words that slipped out of his frantic dreams painted a dark picture in my mind and yet I sat, my hand holding his tight for fear that I would lose him. Around me the others tried to bait the fever that threatened to consume him.  
  
As time went on, there were more urgent patients that needed their help and so they left. They still brought in cool water for me to wipe his brow and face and neck, to calm the fire that seemed to rage through his flesh.  
  
We had to wait and see. They had done as much as they could for him. Only time would tell.  
  
As I wiped the cloth across his face, he muttered foul words of evil thoughts. I felt the darkness that tainted him reach out to take me as well.  
  
With each movement of my hand across his face I cursed you, Uncle. The fever would consume him, fever that could have been stopped had you allowed the healer to work. When the healer returned dejected, my heart cried out in agony at the death you sealed for your son. Your ill-advised counsel had brought us to this. One I loved as a brother fought with evil, evil that burned inside him, to live.  
  
When Mithrandir brought my cousin to the houses, he said that you were dead, your house in ashes. And I did not cry. I was not sorry, and I did not plan to mourn. The rain would come and wash away the stains of a battle you could have prevented. Then I would be at peace.  
  
My mind traveled back to when we were children, my brothers and I, playing on the shores of our native city. Back then, war of this magnitude was something that existed only in fairytales, and Boromir and Faramir would come to visit us in the summer. Faramir would take us to the shore, and we would examine seashells all day long. At the end of the day Amrothos and I would tire and Faramir would find a shady spot under a cliff's edge. We would curl up next to him, for we had tired him as well. "I will keep you safe," he would say as we drifted off to sleep. "No harm will come to you." And we would wake, still safe.  
  
If only I could assure his safety. But I was not a healer. I was a young lady caught up in something much bigger than I ever expected.  
  
The door opened, and a cadre of men walked in, my father amongst them. I was jarred from my thoughts and fears so suddenly that I jumped. Looking up, I glanced at the men quickly, relief flowing as I saw my father's face, disappearing as I remembered the warm hand in my own. I could not be at ease until my family was safe.  
  
One of the men was tall, and blond - a rider from Rohan. The horns that had blown so loudly this morning sounded again in my memory as I saw him, a young man who looked tired and sad as he stood in the doorway of the room.  
  
The other was dark-haired, older, with a green stone on his breast. Mithrandir and my father stood by them, as did the halfling Pippin. They paused, it seemed, and turned to leave.  
  
"Wait!" I cried out frantically. "Will you not help him? He will die without your help!" My fear for my cousin's life had increased as they turned away. Surely my father would not leave his nephew to die!  
  
The one with the stone stepped forward, and laid a hand on Faramir's brow.  
  
"It is fever, my lord," I said. "Perhaps more. A poisoned arrow, some say, and others whisper it is the breath of the Enemy that seeks out those who fear him."  
  
"You do not seem to believe either of these to be the cause of his illness," the man said to me. His voice was calm, yet tired. "What do you think it to be?"  
  
"Many things," I replied, bitterness tumbling out with my words. I did not bother to rein it in. "A wound that is not tended can become dangerous. I would say that carelessness and stubbornness leaded to this."  
  
The man nodded. "I see," he said, as he laid a hand over Faramir's face. "Time is running out. Darkness, ignorance, doubt, despair, carelessness – all these things are apparent. We must not dwell on the past, however - we must look to the future."  
  
As he turned to discuss with the healer Ioreth behind him, it was if a veil has been lifted. Though he did not say so, the stone he wore on his cloak, so heavily favored in legend and myth, told me that the rumors might be true. A king had returned to Minas Tirith.  
  
_The hands of a king are the hands of a healer_. I repeated to myself the words I heard Ioreth say earlier.  
  
The King spoke with her, and she left to find what he was looking for. Soon, younger healers brought hot water, and the King sat down across from me, on Faramir's other side. He took my cousin's hand in his, and placed his other hand on Faramir's forehead.  
  
"Avobresto, hirilen. Garo estel ned nin," he said to me. I nodded, trying to trust him. If he truly was our king, then Faramir would be safe.  
  
"Av'iston, híren," I replied.  
  
"He is nearly spent. But this comes not from the wound. See - that is healing. Had he been smitten by some dart of the Nazgul, as you thought, he would have died that night. This hurt was given by some Southron arrow, I would guess. Who drew it forth? Was it kept?" the King said to Mithrandir and the others.  
  
"I drew it forth and staunched the wound," my father said, stepping forward. "But I did not keep the arrow, for we had much to do. It was, as I remember, just such a dart as the Southrons use. Yet I believe that it came from the Shadows above, for else his fever and sickness were not to be understood since the wound was not deep or vital. How then do you read the matter?"  
  
"Weariness, grief for his father's mood, a wound, and over all the Black Breath," the king replied. Fear again gathered in the pit of my stomach. I knew it. I closed my eyes tight, trying to fight back tears as the King praises Faramir's bravery. Bravery was praised when death was nigh. Though I had battled with death for the past several days, I was not ready to let go yet.  
  
I heard others enter the room, and others leave it, and someone started to speak about kingsfoil. Mithrandir became impatient, and my cousin's skin started to lose some of the searing heat. My father placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently.   
  
I opened my eyes and saw the Rider looking at me thoughtfully, though he, too, was saddened. By what? I wondered, as his eyes turn away from me to the King, who now knelt by my cousin's side. Then, silently, the Rider left the room.  
  
I turned back to look at the King once more. His face grew pained he knelt, hand on Faramir's brow, calling his name loudly at first, then softer and softer each time afterwards.  
  
Behind us someone started to cry, and leaves were passed to the King. He crumpled them and placed them in the water, and the room filled with a sweet smell. The sorrow in my heart seemed to be lifted for a moment. Perhaps my cousin will not die after all, I thought.  
  
Faramir's hand tightened its gripe in mine, and I gasped as his eyes opened. He looked directly at the King.  
  
"My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?" he asked. His voice was soft and hoarse, and I felt the tears I had not yet shed fill my eyes until they were overflowing.  
  
"Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!" the king said, smiling. "You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return."  
  
"I will, lord," Faramir replied, a small smile on his face. "For who will lie idle when the king as returned?"  
  
"Farewell then for a while. I must go to others who need me," the King said. He smiled at me, and then left the room with my father and the others. A member of the Guard – Beregond, I remembered his name to be - stayed behind with his son. Their faces shone with joy.  
  
"Faramir," I said quietly. He turned to look at me.  
  
"You cry, muinthel," he said. He let go of my hand and reached up to brush his fingers against my cheek.  
  
"Iston, muindor," I replied, smiling. "We were all very worried. But it does not matter now. Garo bost. You need your strength."  
  
A small smile crossed Faramir's face as he closed his eyes.  
  
"Thank you, Lothíriel," he whispered.  
  
I smiled and pressed the cloth against his forehead one last time.  
  
"The fever has broken," Beregond said. He looked at me. "You need rest. You look as if you have not slept well in days and I fear you will collapse any moment."  
  
I shook my head. "I wish to stay by Faramir's bedside for the time being. Perhaps I will rise later." I placed my head on the pillow near my cousins, and sighed. Everything would be okay. It would all be alright.  
  
"I will keep you safe," I whispered.

* * *

"Lothíriel."  
  
I opened my eyes suddenly to see my father standing in the doorway. I had fallen asleep, though I had not meant to. Upon waking I found my heart was no longer heavy with sorrow, but seemed to be light as air. Hope now dwelled in it.  
  
"I am to wake you. You looked so peaceful. Did you not sleep at all?"  
  
"As much as possible while the city was besieged," I replied, yawning. I rose, and my father stepped forward to embrace me.  
  
"My Lothíriel," he whispered into my ear. Holding me at arm's length, I saw the tears in his eyes. "I did not think I would see you again."  
  
"Now is not the time for tears, adar," I said. "We must be happy, for all will come right."  
  
"I hope so." My father paused. "Your cousin sleeps well now."  
  
"He does, thanks to the king. Is he still here?" I asked. He shook his head.  
  
"No. He healed Faramir, and the_ perian,_ and the sister of Éomer in the next room, then left. He has other matters to tend to."  
  
"The lady - was she with child?" I asked. "Was she living in Minas Tirith? Did something go wrong?"  
  
My father shakes his head. "She rode into battle, disguised as a rider. It was she that slayed the Witch-King."  
  
My mouth drops open. A woman in battle? My assumption that she had given birth seemed practical to me, for I would never have guessed that women rode into battle.  
  
"Is that common practice in Rohan?" I asked. "I had heard stories of shieldmaidens-"  
  
"No, it is not. But she is alive, and her brother is most thankful," my father said, eager to end the conversation. I wondered, perhaps, if he thought I would do something foolhardy like that.  
  
Suddenly my stomach jolts in fear.  
  
"Amrothos!" I cried out, alarmed. "Where is he, father? Did he survive? Oh please tell me he was not wounded!"  
  
"Your brother performed most admirably, and suffered a mere scratch on the leg from an orc blade. He is with the rest of the Knights, resting."  
  
"Everyone is safe," I said, smiling.  
  
"For the time being, at least," he replied. "We have merely beaten back the forces of darkness. I am sure there is more to be done."  
  
"What of the King?" I asked. "Shall he not claim his throne now?"  
  
"I do not know," my father said, sighing. "For the time being, I am to rule the city. I will need your help, Lothíriel," he added. I nodded, and looked to the doorway where a dark shadow stood.  
  
It was the young man – Éomer, my father had called him. Sorrow still filled his face. My fathered turned and saw him as well.  
  
"Ah – your sister is recovering, I hope?" he asked. Éomer nodded.  
  
"She has much to recover from," he said. It was my father's turn to nod, and it seemed that he now noticed me.  
  
"Éomer, this is my youngest, Lothíriel. Lothíriel, this is Éomer." He paused. "Éomer is King Théoden's nephew," he added. Éomer nodded from the doorway. As he did this, I noticed that he favored his right arm.  
  
"Your arm," I said, reaching out for it. I turned it slightly, and he winced. I noticed blood on the juncture of his armor. It was red. Orc blood was black – surely it was his own.  
  
"I think you are bleeding, my lord," I said. "I can bind this for you, if you wish."  
  
Éomer nodded, and my father said "Once you are finished, bring Éomer to our quarters. Please." I nodded and gestured that Éomer should move out of the doorway so that I could lead him across the hall, where a smaller room complete with a table and bandages existed. More of a storage closet than a room, it would do for the time being.  
  
"Please – sit there," I said, gesturing to the table. "You probably have not rested in quite some time."  
  
Éomer nodded – again - as he sat on the table. I stepped towards him to help unfasten the armor and as I did, I noticed dampness on his cheeks. He had been crying. Without thinking I reached a hand forward to brush the tears away. I let my hand trace his cheek absentmindly, cupping his face while I rebuked myself for this same action. I was merely to bind his wounds– I should not act so casually! Yet, his eyes searched for my eyes as his hand reached up to cover mine. They spoke of unimaginable grief, and I felt as if my heart would be filled once more with sorrow.  
  
I was not sure what exactly happened next. I remembered being pulled against him as he buried his head in my neck, great sobs released from his heaving chest. Pressed against the hard armor, my head resting against his, I wound my fingers into his thick hair and was amazed at the softness of it. His arms wrapped around me, bringing me closer to him. I was his anchor as his sadness overcame him. I felt his hot tears on my neck and shoulder, and tears formed in my own eyes.  
  
And suddenly, I realized. We had lived. We had survived this ordeal, this test. He had survived the battle, I had survived the siege. We both had family that survived – his sister, my father, brother, cousin. We both had family we lost. But evil had been driven back. Perhaps today was the beginning of a new life for all of us.  
  
As silent tears escaped my eyes, his sobs subsided. I managed to quickly wipe away the tears as I withdrew myself from his embrace. Cradling his face in my hands, I studied the blurry tear tracks on his dirty but handsome face. I was still in awe that this warrior, this man I had not known until mere minutes before, trusted me enough to let his emotions flow freely. But then I realized that maybe we were one in the same. We both wanted this malice to leave the land, and leave our peoples alone. Perhaps we were not so different after all.  
  
"Thank you," I finally said, leaning forward to press a kiss on his forehead. "Thank you."  
  
He did not say anything as I stepped backwards. He let his arms fall from my hips, and I turned to collect the salve and some bandages. When I looked back at him, I saw that he was removing the pieces of his armor.  
  
"I could have done that," I said quietly.  
  
He looked away from the fastenings on his breastplate. "You have done enough as it is."  
  
_I have merely given you a shoulder to cry on_, I thought, glancing down at the stained and damp collar of my dress. I did not speak the words. I placed the salve and bandages back down and set to work undoing his armor.  
  
We had taken all of his armor off before he spoke again.  
  
"I am sorry to have..." he started, unable to finish his statement. I nodded my head, acknowledging his words. A rush of emotions had left us with an awkward moment later on.  
  
"I ruined your dress," he added, a look of embarrassment in his eyes. His eyes seemed to tell their own stories, convey the emotion deep within him better than his face or body.  
  
"That does not bother me," I replied as I examined the wound. Pushing up the sleeve of his linen undershirt, I noticed the gash was deep enough to bleed through the armor. It extended from the middle of his forearm to just above his elbow. The shirt sleeve was covered in blood.  
  
"I need you to take off your shirt," I said. "I'll see that it's washed out tonight, and provide you with a new one in the meantime."  
  
Éomer nodded, and pulled the shirt over his head, revealing a well built chest with several small scars on it. I wanted to reach out and touch one, ask him how he received it, and how he felt about the one that would be on his arm, a mark from this battle. But I only paid attention to the fresh wound, for he was still a stranger to me and once I bound this wound, he would return to his men and I would probably never see him again.  
  
"My uncle died today," he said out of nowhere, startling me. I looked up at him, brows furrowed. My father had said earlier he was the nephew of Theoden King. If his uncle had died...then his cousin must be king now?  
  
"I am very sorry," I said. "I lost my uncle as well. And my cousin, but that was earlier."  
  
"I am sorry for your loss," Éomer said quietly. "I, too, lost my cousin. It seems we are the same, my lady."  
  
_No_, I thought to myself, _we are not._ For if his cousin was dead as well, then he was now King. And since neither my father nor Éomer felt that it should be mentioned, I would not press the issue. He was obviously grieved by his family's death, and his sister's injury.  
  
He did not speak again until I had wrapped his arm in bandages.  
  
"Thank you," he said. I stood in my place, unsure of what to do. I wished to speak to him, try to read his troubled mind in some effort to ease my own yet I held back, wary to cross the boundary between a healer and her patient, unsure of where that boundary lay.  
  
Instead, I said "I will fetch you a fresh shirt," and hurried out of the room.  
  
"My lady!" a healer said. In my hurry I had bumped into her.  
  
"I am sorry, I am looking for fresh clothing for my patient," I told her. She glanced over my shoulder, than gestured that I should follow her. She took me to a storeroom, where donated clothing used for patients was kept. She picked out a finely embroidered white shirt, and handed it to me.  
  
"A man fine as he should look good in a shirt as fine as this," she said. I snatched it away from her quickly.  
  
"I do not take kindly to people speaking about my patients that way," I said. Something bothered me about the way she sized him up like he was prize cattle. True, Éomer was a good looking man but he was still here to be healed.  
  
As I re-entered the room, he looked up. I held out the shirt in front of me. "Your shirt," I said.  
  
"Thank you," he said, taking it from me. He pulled it over his head, then turned back to me. "And thank you for...well...everything you have done for me." His eyes and voice were sincere, and I could tell that he was truly grateful.  
  
I smiled, unsure of what to say. I wanted to say something to him, offer my shoulder if he needed to cry again. I wanted to embrace him once more, thank him for the sacrifices of Rohan. But I stood silent and still. For the first time in my life, it seemed I did not have any idea of what to do.  
  
And all the while his dark eyes studied me.  
  
"You're welcome," I said finally. "Shall I show you to my family's quarters?"

* * *

**Vocab Words**

Avobresto hirilen Garo estel ned nin. = Don't worry, my lady. Have trust in me.  
Av'iston, híren = I don't doubt it, my lord.  
Muinthel = sister  
Iston, muindor = I know, brother.  
Garo bost = Rest.


	9. Sleep Well

_Author's Note: Once again, thank you for the reviews. I really appreciate them all. This isn't as intense as the previous chapter but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Look for the intensity to be back in the next few chapters. _

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**Chapter 7: Sleep Well** _**(**Éomer POV)_

Sleep did not wish to come to me tonight. I had lain in bed for hours, my weary limbs crying out for peace that did not arrive.

I forced myself to sit up, the sheets pooling in my lap as I contemplated my next move. Being able to sleep in a bed, much less a comfortable one such as this, was a luxury my body had been deprived of these past few weeks, and I had welcomed the treat willingly.

I had been invited to stay in the guest chambers of the Steward, with the Prince of Dol Amroth and his family. Once the invitation had been extended I had thought bitterly that, if my uncle had not died, I would have been sleeping with my men out on the field and he would be in this warm bed, not on his cold pallet in the cold Citadel.

My uncle. I felt the grief return to me as I thought of my uncle, who now lay in state in the Citadel nearby. Save for Éowyn, my family was all but gone and what did she do? Ride off into battle, seeking death or love or perhaps both, and glory besides.

But she was not dead, just wounded, and now healing. I did now know where I would be now if I had lost her. 

I felt the tears well up again and I grit my teeth. A warrior who showed emotion showed weakness. That lesson had been drummed into me as a child, and I would not forget it now. I had already shown much weakness today with the lady Lothíriel. I was embarrassed when I remembered the loss of control her touch inspired, the comfort she offered me. I still smelled the fragrance of her hair as I thought of her, and shame filled me. I had been taught that showing weakness in front of a lady was wrong, and for her part she did not reprimand me for any lax in social graces. She said nothing, and bound my wounds.

When she escorted me to my quarters tonight, I wanted to speak to her more. She had hardly spoken during dinner, and my feeble attempts at thanking her in the Houses yielded only calm, practiced smiles. I thought that, as a healer she had been trained to listen and comfort the sick. Maybe her words would comfort me.

But the lady wished me good night, and left for her own quarters farther down the hall, and I realized that perhaps she was as tired as I was, and perhaps she was only as interesting as my mind made her to be.

As a child, my mother would tell me bedtime stories of spirits who guarded us and who would protect us in times of need. These guardian spirits were always with us, she would say as she leaned down to kiss my forehead and pull the covers under my chin. They would help us when we least expected them. As I grew older I had forgotten about them, suffering too many losses to believe that some spirit guarded my life and the lives of others. Indeed, I had not thought about them until today, when I had met Lothíriel and the idea of a guardian spirit seemed all the more real.

But if I sat here and thought of the Prince's daughter, I would not fall asleep.

I recalled an open area down the hallway. There were soft couches as well as hard chairs, and books. As a child I learned that I enjoyed reading about heroes and far away lands; reading about the lives of ordinary people made me fall sleep.

Perhaps I had stumbled upon a way to ease my troubled mind and get some rest.

Taking a candle from my bedside, I opened my door to see the hallway dark save for a few torches which were halfway burned. Somewhere in the city, a bell tolled one. I made my way down the dark hall until I came to the area I had remembered.

I had not expected to find it already occupied.

Lothíriel was there, her very presence seeming to have come out of my scattered thoughts. Her brown hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders and she wore only a light-colored dressing gown. She lay on the couch in front of me, and I would have thought her asleep save for a soft sniff.

The lady was crying.

I knew I had to alert her to my presence somehow, though I felt bad for disturbing her in an intimate moment of grief. I coughed. I did not expect to startle her so, for she leapt to her feet and spun in my direction.

"My lord Éomer!" she exclaimed, her voice a loud whisper and her eyes wide, "I am sorry but you have surprised me!"

She quickly wiped at her face, as if her sudden ministrations would remove the traces of her sadness. Her face and nose were red, her eyes watery. She looked much younger than I remembered her being. Her gown was tied tightly around a small waist, the fabric falling over her subtle curves. This guardian spirit was more human than spirit and that fact echoed in my mind as I caught myself taking notice of these things.

"I did not mean to," I said, hoping she did not notice me leering at her. "In fact, my intent was just the opposite."

She laughed easily enough for someone who had been crying moments earlier. "Easier said than done, I fear. I am easily frightened. Having three brothers and two older cousins, you would think I would learn to keep my guard up at all times. But, alas, sometimes I am so distracted by other things I simply forget."

As she spoke these words, an image of Lothíriel, startled when we entered the room her cousin lay in, crosses my mind. Her cry of "Will you not help him? He will die without your help!" echoed in my memory.

She was not as all-powerful as I had hoped she would be.

"Is your cousin feeling better?" I asked.

"He was sleeping when I left. The fever had broken. And I am very thankful, for I could not lose him as well," Lothíriel said. She laughed a nervous laugh, and reached up to her eyes with her free hand, brushing them with her fingertips.

"I am sorry – I do not know what has come over me. Ever since I entered this city I have gotten upset over the smallest things. It seems my wits did not come with me to Minas Tirith," she said. She smiled, as if to show me she had recovered some semblance of control.

I wished to cheer her up, in some way if possible but I felt awkward for a moment, unsure if we would speak more, or if I should turn around and return to my room. I had not spent a great deal of time in a lady's company in a while. Save for Éowyn, my own companions were my eored, and one acts differently around soldiers than they do ladies at court.

Not only that, but Lothíriel seemed nervous. As confidant as her posturing was, she seemed uncertain of herself. She also seemed sad, and I wished, if possible, to raise her sprits. Perhaps helping her would help me as well. I just didn't know how.

"Perhaps lack of sleep is the cause?" I asked.

"Perhaps it is the cause...sleep is a fickle mistress," Lothíriel said sadly. "Would that be the reason the King of Rohan is wandering the house this early in the morning?"

"My body is weary, yet my mind will not let it rest."

"I see we both suffer the same ailment," she replied. A small smile crossed her face. "I believe there is a remedy for those of us afflicted by this illness."

Placing the book on the table, she walked across the room to a cabinet with a key in the lock. Quickly opening it, she took out a decanter of something – brandy, perhaps – and, after looking around inside only to not find what she was searching for, closed it again. As she returned to where I stood, I noticed a slight change in her demeanor. She seemed to recover herself in the short trip across the room, and appeared to be more relaxed.

"I am afraid we will have to both drink out of this," she said, unplugging it. "I hope you do not mind. Please, sit." She gestured to an open couch, where I sat down, my tired body grateful for a moment's rest. "I assure you, I would feel most privileged to share brandy with a noble warrior."

She handed me the decanter so I could take the first sip and I realized I would not have to observe any sort of pleasantries around her. Her actions – informal compared to how she acted in the Houses – were of interest to me.

"An old Gondorian healing practice?" I asked. I felt the liquid flow down my throat and warm my stomach. She laughed again.

"Common sense," Lothíriel replied. "I am sure there are other means by which to ease troubled minds, but this works in a pinch."

"Healers at the Houses use this method often?" I asked, eager to learn more about her.

Lothíriel shook her head. "I would not know - I am not a healer. I merely was there at the wrong time. Or right time, for they certainly needed me. I am practiced in the arts of healing, but I fear I am more scholar than healer."

"You healed me well enough," I told her. I gestured to my arm felt a great deal better. She reached for the decanter, which I passed to her.

"A simple task. But I do not think I'd want to be healer," she said. She took a sip of brandy, and placed the bottle on a small table between us.

"Why not?" I asked, eager to hear her speak, for it somehow comforted me. She drew her legs to her chest, and rested her chin on her knees.

"Many reasons," Lothíriel said, deep in thought. "Most of them involving lack of healing skills, lack of patience to learn said skills, or disgust at the sight of a truly awful wound. But if you really wish to know, I much prefer politics to healing. It is one thing to heal an injured body. It is another to prevent the injury in the first place."

"That is very true."

"Enough about me," she said. She seemed to sit up straighter. "How are you?"

I looked up into grey eyes that seem sincerely interested in my welfare.

"Well, would you prefer the long answer or the short one?" I asked.

Once again she laughed, and I realized how much I enjoyed the sound of her laughter. Something about it seemed to put my mind at ease.

"I think I'll take my chances with the long," Lothíriel replied.

"I could be better," I said, reaching for the brandy once more. After taking a sip, I continued, "I feel as if my entire life has been turned upside down in one day. My sister is now healing after suffering from wounds she received in battle, my uncle is dead as his is son and true heir, and as a result a title and crown suddenly have fallen upon me. Had you told me all of this would happen when we rode out this morning, I..." I stopped. "I'd like to say I would have promptly turned around and rode back to Edoras. At least there I would be able to fight on my own ground. But I don't think I would have. I probably would have come here anyway."

"That makes you a very noble person," Lothíriel said and it felt as if the greatest praise imaginable had been placed on my head.

"So what do you intend to do now?" she asked, taking another sip from the brandy.

"Stay, and fight until Sauron is defeated." I paused. She mentioned being interested in politics. I wondered how much she might know, and how much I could tell her. "It all depends on the halflings now."

"I have met one of them," she said. "I have heard there are more of their kind – the one that lies in the Houses of Healing, and two that go forth on a quest to seal the fate of this Earth."

"Yes. Everything depends on those two, so Aragorn says," I remarked. She furrowed her brows at Aragorn's name, and so I explained "The King of Gondor – or, the soon-to-be King. He is of the Dunedain, people from the North-"

"I know," she said. "I have heard of them." Lothíriel paused, contemplating the decanter, uneager to pursue to the current topic any further. I decided to change it on my own.

"I know very little of Gondor's history, to be honest," I said. "It wasn't taught on the Mark, save for bedtime stories."

"And I know only what my father told me of Rohan," Lothíriel said. "I would like to learn more, if you would like to speak of your land."

"If I speak of Rohan," I said as I took a swig, "you must speak of Dol Amroth, and of Gondor."

"And Minas Tirith as well?" she asked, laughing again. "For Gondor is the land that encompasses Dol Amroth, and the city we find ourselves in." The warmth of the brandy had spread throughout my body and I laughed.

"If you so choose."

"I can speak first, if you wish," she said. She moved to lie on her stomach, her interested eyes looking directly at me. "For I have many stories to tell, as I am sure you do."

"Tell me of the Mundburg, since I find myself in this city," I said, taking another drink. At her questioning look, I clarified "We call it Mundberg in Rohan."

"What do you wish to know?" she asked. "I could tell you ancient lore, or my own story."

"Yours will be more interesting, I assure you," I told her as I lay down as well, resting my head on a soft pillow.

"Well," she took a sip of the brandy and seemed looked beyond me, into the past, "I came to Minas Tirith when I was three years old. We were to visit my uncle and my cousins, and my father had some business, it seems. My brothers had been here before – I have three older brothers – and this was my first time. And so I remember my father took me out of the carriage I had been in with my nurse, and placed me in front of him as we rode into the city. And though I don't remember this, he has told me what he said, which was 'I want my daughter to see the greatness of her forefathers.'"

Lothíriel paused, and her eyes took on a far away look. "And I remember seeing it – a shining white beacon in the middle of a plain. I can still remember it to this day."

I smiled, her memory triggering my own. "My parents brought us to Edoras when Éowyn was but a young babe. Our village had been sacked by orcs, and though the Riders had defeated them my mother no longer thought us safe. I remember riding in front of my father much like you did, and seeing the city as a tiny speck from a hill. Edoras stands on hill, and at the very top is Medusaled, our Golden Hall. And I remember watching it grown bigger and bigger, and when I was finally there the sheer size of it astonished me. It was amazing."

"As a child, we would come here in the summer to escape the heat of the shore. Dol Amroth is South, and lies on the sea. And even though the white marble seemed to absorb the heat, it was still much cooler than Dol Amroth. We used to play in the forgotten gardens, and pester shopkeepers. And we would wait, on the steps of the Citadel, for our cousins to come home. Faramir was in Ithilien, and Boromir was in the City – and we would wait. And whichever one returned first –for they always sought leave when we were in town – we would run up to them and practically tackle them."

Her voice, which had been full of happiness, now changes tone. I heard the sadness behind her words, as her memory seems to become more powerful. I study her intently, but she is still looking away. Sadness fills her grey eyes, and I realized that I had never seen a woman as beautiful as Lothíriel.

"I always hated to leave, because Faramir used to take me into library and read to me. He would show me the thick books and say that one day I, too, could read them. And Boromir...we used to stage mock-battles with him in the courtyards." I noticed a tear escape her eye, then she smiled one more.

"I will miss him," she said. "We all will." Instead of remaining silent, Lothíriel once again looks at me.

"What did you do for fun in Rohan?" she asked.

"Rode horses, mostly," I said. "We had mock-battles. Eowyn would always join in, and we would be especially careful not to hurt her." In my mind's eye I saw a small Eowyn dressed in oversized garments fighting with other children. She held a wooden sword in her hand, her blonde braid wiping around her head as she fought. I close my eyes for a moment, then open them.

Lothíriel was looking at me. I felt her eyes fall upon my face, and she smiled.

"Childhood is an amazing time," she said, and as she started to tell a story about an adventure Boromir had taken them on as children, I felt my eyes close once more.

* * *

When I woke the next morning, someone was poking me. 

"Wake up, silly," a woman's voice said. I opened my eyes to see Lothíriel leaning over me. She was dressed differently – her hair was pulled back, much like, when I had met her, and a halo of light was around her head.

"Where am I?" I asked, sitting up only to learn I was still in the room, only it was day.

"You remain where you started," Lothíriel replied. She was sitting on the low table between the two couches. "I am sorry to wake you, but I thought that if I did, it would have been less awkward than my brother or father waking you."

"Why did you let me fall asleep here?" I asked. I rubbed my eyes, blinking in the early morning sunlight. My arms and legs did not feel as tired as the night before, and it seemed that a weight had been lifted from my heart as well.

The lady who sits before me is not the gentle healer but the little girl from Dol Amroth who basked her this city's glow years before. Something about her has changed – a softening in her eyes, perhaps, or a change in the posture of her slender shoulders.

"You feel asleep," she said with a smile, "and you looked so peaceful and I knew peaceful sleep had been fleeting. I did not have the heart to wake you."

"Thank you," I said. Lothíriel stood up.

"Quickly – you must go change, for my father will wish you to join us for breakfast." As I rise and turned to leave, I felt her hand grab my wrist. Before I knew it, her arms encircled my waist and she laid her head on my chest. I was surprised to find that the top of her head reached my eyes, for I was a tall man. I wrapped my arms around her slender frame, and felt peace that came only with human contact.

"Thank you," she said a moment later, releasing her arms and breaking the embrace. "Thank you for protecting us."

With that Lothíriel was gone, down a hallway and away from me.

I watched her as she left, feeling at peace for the first time in a long time. I realized, as I headed towards my room, that talking about our childhoods had been a deliberate effort on her behalf to clear my head and take my mind away from dark thoughts. I had enjoyed a good night's sleep, and had put my weary heart at ease.

"Thank you, Lothíriel, for healing me," I said to no one as I entered my room. I was not ready for what would befall me, but at least I would start this day untroubled.


	10. Crutch and Cast

_Author's Note: Thank you once again to my amazing reviewers. The title of this section comes from a TV on the Radio song, called 'Ambulance'. Do not mistake this for any sort of songfic, nor was it influenced by the song. The title is merely for my own fancy, but the idea does set the tone for the pensive mood of our narrator in this chapter._ _Speculate all you will ;) and please leave reviews!_

* * *

**Chapter 8: Crutch and Cast (****Lothíriel** **POV)**

"You father requests your presence, my lady."

I glanced up to see the young page standing in the doorway, panting. I had heard him pound up the steps, his errand appearing to be of utmost importance. I placed the book I was reading on the table, and rose to my feet.

"Where may I find him?" I asked the boy. He could be no more than ten, and wore the livery of the White Tower proudly.

"He is in the Citadel," the page said. "He also requests the presence of the King of Rohan, my lady."

I raised my eyebrows at this statement. The young boy looked frightened as he said it, and I knew that Éomer would be the first king this child would meet - a strong and mighty figure the likes of which he would only have heard of in legend. He would be the first king this child would lay his eyes upon, but not the last.

"And you would like me to fetch him?" I asked. The boy reddened, and then nodded. I smiled and nodded back to him, then turned to go find the terrifying King of Rohan.

Éomer opened the door soon after I knocked. He appeared as if he was in the middle of dressing, and wore only a linen shirt and breeches. In order to allow him modesty – though I had seen the man shirtless, I reminded myself - I bowed my head and said "My father requests your presence, my lord."

Éomer nodded, looking confused. "Did he give a reason?"

"The page he sent did not. I assume it to be official, since my prescience has been requested as well," I told him. Éomer nodded again.

"Allow me one more minute, Lady Lothíriel," he said and closed the door. I stepped back out into the hall and, glancing towards the great room, I saw the page peek out from behind a chair. I suppressed a laugh, waiting for the King to exit his chambers.

Éomer turned out to be a fast dresser after all, emerging in his full battle armor sans helmet quickly. As we walked down the hall, I put a hand on his and drew him closer.

"The page has never met a king, so you are indeed almost an idol in his eyes," I told Éomer confidentially.

"I see," Éomer said, and grinned. "This should be interesting."

As we entered the room, the page appeared frozen, starring at Éomer. I thought of the picture he made – a Rider of Rohan, tall and fierce in his armor. As fierce as he looked, I knew that there was a difference between the warrior and the man beneath the armor, and was grateful I was not in the pages shoes.

"Your majesty," he said, bowing down but his eyes still on Éomer. His tone was reverent, and I wondered what it would be like to not be nobility for a moment. Less responsibility, for one thing, and the idea of meeting a king would probably be the highlight of my day, let alone year.

"Rise, my good boy," Éomer said in a commanding tone, breaking my train of thought. I glanced over and caught the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. The page, however, did not.

"My lord Imrahil requests your presence," the page stuttered out. His eyes still were fixed on Éomer, and the armor he wore – leather and mail which gleamed. Éomer wore his armor with pride and dignity and if I was but a young boy of ten, I could imagine being transfixed as well.

"My presence he shall have," Éomer said. He then turned to me and held out his arm. "My lady? Shall we go?" _Ah, the highlight of being royalty – young men always willing to escort a lady._

Stifling a laugh, I said "Of course, my lord. You do me a great honor." We followed the page down the stairs, and by the bottom I was shaking from trying to hold my laughter.

"Are you alright?" Éomer asked. I shook my head and finally let the laughter burst out.

"I don't know why this is so funny," I said, taking a deep breath, "but I cannot seem to control myself!" In truth, I didn't know what was funny about the situation, except that it just seemed hilarious to me. _You need to sleep more and stop telling stories to young kings_, I thought to myself.

"I don't mind it," Éomer said. "I like to hear you laugh. It gives me hope."

I quickly looked away, unable to respond. I had never been complimented by a king before, and somehow, it felt as if any saucy reply I could have mustered would have been inappropriate. Besides, I very much doubted he was merely flattering me; though I had only interacted with Éomer on several occasions, he struck me as the type of man who did not waste words, and those that he did speak were thoughtfully chosen.

We did not speak again until we reached the Citadel, where we thanked the page for leading us there, and I removed my hand from his arm. We were directed inside the large chamber and quickly off to the right, down a hallway into a small sitting area I did not recognize. It looked as if it had not been used in ages and had been hastily tidied up for use now. My father stood before a dormant fireplace.

"My Lord Éomer," my father said, approaching us. "I hope you slept well."

"Very peacefully, thank you" Éomer replied.

"Will you excuse us for a moment? There are some things I need to speak to my daughter about before I speak with you," my father said suddenly. I was caught off-guard as Éomer bowed and left the small room.

"Father? What is it?" I asked, concerned as this request.

"Lothíriel, I need you to take two companions of the _perian_ to visit them in the Houses. They wait for you by the White Tree. Éomer and I will be going to council with Mithrandir and the King," my father said.

I nodded. It seemed to me that, more and more, I was being shut out of councils and I did not know what that meant. It did not seem to bode well.

"I know you're frustrated by this, Lote," my father said sincerely, "but the request came from the King, and he must not know our customs. Regardless..." he paused, glancing away from me before meeting my eyes again.

"Do you think it is time to tell Faramir?" he asked, starting an entirely new subject. I knew where this was going.

"You wanted me to tell him," I said, and my father sighed.

"You received him into the Houses. You were the second face he saw after leaving the Shadow, and you were the hand that held his throughout the ordeal. It is only fitting."

"In that case, no. Not today. He needs one more day to regain his strength, and then I will tell him."

"As you see fit," he said. "Lothíriel..."

"Good day, father," I said, not wanting to carry the conversation on any longer. I did not want apologies nor did I want my annoyance to be shown. As I exited the room, I noticed Éomer stood in the hallway, waiting patiently.

"My father will see you now," I said. "I have an errand to attend to."

"Take care, my lady," he said before entering the room. I glanced in, and then quickly headed towards the White Tree, and my errand.

I was surprised that the two companions were an elf and a dwarf. I had never seen a dwarf before, and elves were only spoken of in stories. They seemed to be bickering, and as I approached I noticed it to be entirely good-natured.

"Good morning, good sirs," I called out. They turned to face me, and the Elf smiled.

"Well hello!" the dwarf said, turning away from his companion and drawing nearer to me. "Are you to be our escort to the Houses of Healing?"

"My father sent for me to see that you visit your friends," I replied, smiling down at him. "I am Lady Lothíriel, of Dol Amroth."

"I am Gimli," the dwarf said. As he spoke, the elf - who had been staring at me in an intense manner, stepped forward and took my hand.

"Mae govannen, hirilen," the elf said, pressing his lips to the back of my hand. "Ennethen Legolas."

"Mae govannen, Híren," I replied.

"It is a pleasure to meet a lady from Dol Amroth. I could tell from your father that elven blood ran in your veins, but you, my lady, are as fair as any elven maiden."

"I fear you give me too much credit," I replied, not being able to keep a blush from rising to my cheeks. "Shall we head to the Houses? They are not far."

The companions nodded, and as I walked in front of them I heard the dwarf tell his friend, "She's very beautiful, but not as beautiful as the Lady Galadriel."

* * *

After showing them to the Halflings, I sought the Warden of the Houses.

"How is my cousin?" I asked once I found him.

"Sleeping, I'm afraid," the Warden replied. "He was up a bit earlier, but he still needs his rest."

"How is he doing otherwise?" I asked as we stopped outside his door. Indeed my cousin slept peacefully and I thanked the Valor that he did.

"He is recovering fine, but..." the warden paused. "His duties-"

"My father will handle them until he regains his strength." I glanced across the hall. "And the young woman? The Rohirrim woman?"

"She grows stronger, but her spirit seems weaker," he said as we glanced in. She was sleeping also at the moment, her hair spread across the pillow and I noticed in the sunlight it took the same golden shade as Eomer's did in the candlelight.

"Lothíriel!" I heard a voice call out, and as I turned away from the warden I saw Kel as he hobbled down the hallway on a crutch. I had forgotten about him in the panic of the past few days, and my earlier uncertainty about him seemed to return.

Behind me, the warden excused himself, and I inwardly wanted to excuse myself as well. But I could not – politeness, and perhaps something else dictated that I stay.

"What has happened?" I asked, my eyes seeing a bandage wrapped around his left leg. He paused inches away from me, and leaned on the wall. I tried to look interested.

"Shrapnel fell on me, but luckily it didn't do much to my leg. I'm a bit sore now, but I plan to fight again!" Kel said enthusiastically.

"I see," I nodded. I remembered the sounds of the enemies trebuchets as they send stones into the city, the sound of the walls falling, the cries below. My stomach churned.

"I am sorry about your cousin," he remarked suddenly, and once again my thoughts were interrupted. "I trust he will regain his strength soon."

"I do not doubt that," I said. I glanced into the room where Eomer's sister lay, and noticed she was waking up. Suddenly I did not want to be there anymore.

"I should be going – there are duties I must attend to in the Citadel," I lied, turning to leave.

"Wait – I could escort you," Kel said hopefully.

"Rest," I told Kel in my most charming tone. "Perhaps I will find time to visit you later." As much as I found myself disliking this side of Kel I had not seen before – a sappy, pathetic romantic side of Kel – I could not discourage a man who was interested in me. Eru only knew my luck with men...

"I hope to see you again soon, Lothíriel," Kel called after me. I smiled and waved to him, all the while hating myself for both the falseness of my actions, and the confusion that would later come.

It was not that Kel was an unworthy suitor. It was that he wasn't type of suitor I wanted. But then again, while I didn't really know the type of suitor I wanted, I knew he was not it.

* * *

It was late afternoon when I found I had a visitor. I had returned from the Houses to find our quarters abandoned, not even a page. My head was throbbing, so I lay down and was not disturbed. I rose as the sun made it's descent towards the horizon. 

I heard my visitor's footsteps stop at the doorway, and when I turned I was surprised by who had chosen to pay me a visit.

"My lord Éomer," I said. "This is unexpected." I had not seen him nor my father since morning, and had not expected anyone to seek me out. Anyone save Kel, at least.

"But not unwelcome, I hope," he said with a smile. "I had sought to find you."

"I am not that hard to find," I replied. For indeed, I was on a balcony of our residence, looking out at the streets below and the dark mountains in the distance, not hidden in the Citadel or my room.

And his presence was not unwelcome at all. After our conversation last night I had found his company to be enjoyable enough, nervous though I was to speak with him. I was unsure where the boundary lay, since I had treated him as a patient, but those reservations were quickly swept away by his good nature.

"True," Éomer said with a small laugh, "but I also hope to gain some of peace of mind."

"Surely, my lord," I said. "Please, there are some benches here so that we may sit." I gestured to the stone benches on the balcony but while Éomer drew closer, he shook his head.

"I have been seated for several days, and I will be seated for several days more before all this is done," he said. Several days more?

"May we speak freely, my lord, and dispense of pleasantries?" I asked. He nodded, and I leaned my back against the balcony, facing him. I could tell Éomer was uneasy about whatever he had wished to confide in me, so I thought perhaps if I broached the subject first, it would ease his mind.

"I visited your sister today," I said. "Have you seen her yet?"

"No, I regret I've been busy with other matters, but shall see later today. How is she?" he asked, concern in his eyes. I realized that this was not the subject he had meant to address.

"Her body is healing, but I do not know if she is," I replied. "There seems to be some impediment to her peace of mind, so the warden says. And from my own eyes, I believe him to be right."

"As to be expected," Éomer said, sighing. "I love my sister dearly, but she is stubborn sometimes."

"It is not treason to speak the truth about those we love," I told him. "Why would she choose to be stubborn about her well being?"

"Because Éowyn is unsatisfied with the life she has been living in Edoras, and sought death and glory on the fields of battle." He stopped, uncertain whether to continue or not.

"I will not betray your confidence," I said, sitting down on the stone bench. Éomer followed my example, and sat next to me.

"Things had not been going well in Rohan before this war. Saurmon had poisoned the mind of our king, and sent his spies to harm our country. I was with my eored, protecting Rohan as best I could but Éowyn..." Éomer stopped again, and looked up at me.

"I do not wish to insult you by what I say, for I can tell you are an educated woman. I do not know the customs of Gondor, but in Rohan it is more common for women to be housewives than warriors or politicians. Perhaps it is our culture, which keeps men in the saddle and women by the hearth. Whatever it is, it dissatisfied Éowyn." He sighed again.

"I have heard of shieldmaidens of Rohan, women taught to fight-"I said but he interrupted me.

"They have faded into myth and legend. Perhaps Éowyn found her example in them. But I do not know. All I know is my sister chose death over life, and I wish I knew her own reasoning why."

"We cannot assume to know others intimate thoughts," I told him. "If you sit here and question what her motivation was, it will drive you insane. We must think of the future, of giving her hope and inspiration to live life again."

"Would you look in on her when I'm gone?" Éomer asked. Surprised, I nodded yes.

"Thank you."

"You're leaving? Are you returning to your land? " I asked, careful that I did not accuse an ally of abandoning us when we were in need. I had thought the fight was more than Gondor's now – the fate of Middle Earth now lay in the balance.

"There was a council this morning," Éomer said. "The captains of the West were there, and it is decided that to give Frodo – the Hobbit who carries the Ring – more time, we will draw Sauron's eye towards a combined force." He paused. "We march for the Black Gate in two day's time."

"I see," I said, looking away. To me, the move sounds almost like suicide. "Who is 'we'?"

"Aragorn, with the company of men from Gondor and Osgiliath, a company of riders along with myself, and...and your father as well as some of his knights and soldiers."

"I see," I replied, rising quickly to my feet. I was unable to control my actions. I had never wished to run away from something before, always happy to meet it head on. But now, oh how I wished to run away at this very moment.

I turned and looked down at the streets of Minas Tirith. The people moved about their day trying to recover their valuables, their houses, their lives. How many of these people had family fighting for the city, for this land? How many would lose everything if they died?

"Lothíriel?"

I turned to see Éomer standing as well, and looking at me with concern in his dark eyes. I laughed, hoping I would sound fine but knowing it was all an act.

"I am sorry," I said. "I...I guess I never really knew how much I had to lose until now." I closed my eyes, struggling to maintain some sort of composure. I would not cry now, because the worst was still yet to come. I would not cry now for I was being selfish.

I felt a hand slip into mine, and I opened my eyes again. I looked down to see Eomer's hand had made its way into mine – a gesture of support and care and one that I needed right now.

"I would not see a beautiful lady cry," he said softly. "I will make sure that your father and brother come home to you."

I looked up, blinking the tears away, his words still ringing in my ears. "Thank you," I said. I was unsure of what else to say. Was he trying to flatter me?

I noticed that he did not move any closer to me, that he did not try to use this moment of weakness against me.

"It will be my pleasure," Éomer said. "For your father found my sister, and it seems only right I look out for those who have looked out for me."

"Perhaps we are all becoming friends, my lord," I said, aware of his hand still in mine. I could feel the calluses in his hands, received from many years of fighting. I felt the soft outline of a scar on one is his fingers, and I wondered what he thought of my hands. Soft and delicate, perhaps, befitting a lady whose only wounds came from paper cuts. Not hands that did hard work, or gripped a sword or bow.

For a moment, I never felt closer to another person in my entire life.

"I do not think becoming your friend would be a terrible thing, Lothíriel," Éomer said. Once again I felt ready to guard myself from flattery, yet as I finally met his eyes I felt that he was sincere. He was merely being honest.

"Thank you," I said, squeezing his hand and letting it drop, "I will find you before you leave, for it is not fitting to wish you luck as of now. Or, rather, I do not find it fitting."

"Thank you," he said. "I will be very busy before I leave - but I shall make the effort to be found." He turned away and looked out over the city.

"I hope the next time I visit this city," he said, "I will have a better opportunity to enjoy it."

"I hope the next time you visit it will not be in ruins but will be a glorious city, reborn by the care of a King," I said, leaning on the balcony wall. "For too long has this fair city been without a king, and I can only marvel at what it would be like with one."

"Indeed, it will be beautiful once again," my father's voice said from behind us. Éomer and I turned around quickly, surprised at the sudden entry.

Éomer nodded. "I will be with my men, should you need me."

"I hope you will join us for supper again," my father said. "And you are welcome to stay here as well."

"I thank you for your generosity," Éomer replied. He bowed to me, and to my father, and then left.

"A good man," my father said. He studied me for a moment, probably wondering why Éomer had sought me out. In truth, I did not know the answer, though I assumed he still thought me able to bring comfort to his mind.

"He will be a good king," I told him. "He is thoughtful and considerate and brave. He will do his uncle great honor."

"Yes," my father said uneasily. "And now you must do your cousin great honor."

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"Éomer told you we were riding to the Gate, did he not?"

"He has sought out my confidence," I replied. "It is common for soldiers to trust those who heal their wounds." _Why am I defending myself?_

"When we ride to the gate, I will need you to handle the stewardship over the city, until Faramir is able to assume his role."

The words sunk into me slowly. My father – no, the Captains of the West – were entrusting me with a great honor, and great responsibility. No doubt my father had spoken highly of my abilities, for they would not have agreed.

_So Éomer knew what my father would ask of me..._ I realized. I wondered why he did not tell me himself, but realized it was not his place.

"What say you?" my father asked, stepping closer to me.

"It is a great responsibility that I will not handle lightly," I replied. My father nodded.

"I did not think you would. Now, this will probably before for only a day or two-"

"I shall honor my family," I said quietly. My father smiled.

"Good." He paused, looking at me. "How are you doing?"

"I find that I cannot keep my mind from wandering today," I replied. "Perhaps I have not slept enough."

"Well, I must show you some things before we eat. You will need to rest up – the city will need your strength."

* * *

**Vocab Words:**

Well met, my lady. My name is Legolas.

Well met, my lord.


	11. Moonlight

_Author's Note: Long time, no update. School has started again, but that's not the real excuse. This chapter just took a hell of a lot longer than I thought. I hope you enjoy it. Please review!_

* * *

Chapter 9: Moonlight (Eomer POV)

I had been busy since the decision was made to ride to the Black Gate. There have been men to evaluate, plans to finalize, an ill sister to visit. Between all this I had managed sleep as well as supper with the royal family of Dol Amroth two nights running. I only managed sleep because by the end of the day, my body crumbles in an exhausted heap, not even thoughts of Mordor enough to keep me awake. I only managed supper because if I did not, I would not see Lothíriel.

I didn't know why it seemed vital I interact with her at least once a day. I remembered hearing from older riders that only women and horses have the ability to drive men insane one moment, make them completely happy the next. I had understood that horses could be difficult to work with, and that they could also be your best friend. I had heard stories of wives driving their husbands crazy, yet these same husbands sought out the wives at the end of the day, happy to be welcomed back into their arms.

My own interaction with women was limited to bar wenches who approached me at taverns, feeling friendly enough to thrust their bosoms in a stranger's face, and my sister Éowyn. I had never met a woman like Lothíriel before and though I barely knew her, in my mind we were friends. I knew that this was not true, that she barely knew me and probably only humored me, but whenever she smiled at me, or laughed while I was around, or listened to me, our lack of personal intimacy did not matter in the least.

But I would miss that smile and laughter very soon. We rode for the Black Gate tomorrow, and I might not see her again. I might die at the Gate, or something might happen here. I hoped that it would not – I prayed neither would happen – but I also knew that she would return to her city, and that my momentary fascination with a woman from Belfalas would soon fade. A fascination, that's all it was really.

And so I thought about all of this while I should have been sleeping. Sleep would not come, with questions about Lothíriel and fear of Mordor dancing in my head. I wanted nothing more than one good's night sleep before we rode, for sleeping on the trail would not be the same as sleeping in this bed.

I stood up, wondering if perhaps the cabinet that Lothíriel had taken the brandy out of was open. There was only one way to find out.

As I entered the common room, I noticed it glowed with silver, as rays of moonlight flooded the room through the balcony windows. There was something about its glow, something unusual and distinct, that intrigued me. I walked towards the balcony door as if mesmerized, then stopped.

On the balcony floor sat Lothíriel. The hobbit Pippin lay next to her, his head resting in her lap. She stroked her hand through his hair gently, all the while speaking in a low voice. Her words seemed to flow into each other, taking on a chant-like quality – a prayer in a language I had never heard until I met Aragorn and Legolas weeks before.

Her eyes looked up towards the doorway, and she saw me.

"He was frightened. I told him a story," she said, gesturing to the hobbit in her lap. She paused, looking down at Pippin. "These are great times, for even the smallest of us."

I nodded, realizing that perhaps she was speaking of herself as well as the hobbits. "I have never seen the moon glow as such," I said. I did not know why I changed the direction of conversation.

"Nor have I," Lothíriel replied. "At first, I wondered if it was a gift from Mordor, to frighten us. Yet, now I think the moon is merely on one stage of its cycle, and that it is no longer afraid of Mordor. Perhaps it shines down on your quest."

"Perhaps," I said. A good omen would be beneficial for this difficult journey.

"You can come in, you know," she said softly, breaking my thoughts. She patted the floor next to her. "I know you are not frightened of me."

In the moonlight, her eye shone with ethereal beauty. Her hair reflected the light, silver spirals cascading like rivers down to her shoulders. Her face, which was fair and perfect, looked like something from a dream. As I sank down next to her, I wondered if perhaps this was all a dream – all of this. Perhaps I would wake up tomorrow in Edoras, my uncle and cousin still alive, Éowyn riding her horse and not bedridden.

"This all feels unreal," she said, echoing my own thoughts. As I glanced over, I saw that she was not looking at me. Instead, she was looking out at the mountains. Beyond those mountains, a black gate lay.

"You will make your father proud," I told her. I hoped she was referring to her situation, but part of me wondered if she was referring to this moonlight, the beautiful view off the balcony, the ...

"I don't know...even as a child, I was never put in any sort of situation where my leadership was needed. Of course, I grew up as a member of the nobility – I had servants I ordered about, ladies in waiting I avoided constantly. While my brothers went off to serve in our military, I sat at my father's right hand. I am more schooled in proper protocol than on how to lead."

"But you said you were a politician," I asked.

"I have read about politics. I have studied what the great kings and queens and stewards did, but have not had a chance to put it into practice."

"Perhaps now is your chance," I said. "These times call for new leaders, and we find them in unexpected places."

"A ranger becomes King of Gondor, a hobbit holds the Ring of Power, and a princess must rule Minas Tirith," Lothíriel sighed. "It will only be for a day, if even that. It's not even ruling, if you think about it. I am just standing there, as a sort of figurehead."

"But I'm sure Minas Tirith will need you in the coming days as more than just a figurehead," I told her. "Your cousin will need you."

"I know," she whispered. Lothíriel laced her free hand in mine, and leaned her head on my shoulder. This close contact surprised me, so deep in this dream that I did not expect her hand to be warm, her check against my shoulder to be warm, her breath against my collarbone to be warm.

"You will be fine as well," Lothíriel said. There was something intimate about all this, something I didn't know if I understood, but something that seemed right nonetheless. "I do not despair. I worry, but I do not despair."

"I wish I had your hope," I replied. I awkwardly rested my chin against her head, unsure of the contact but sure that, above all else, human contact was what I needed. What we both needed.

"I am almost certain that the worst has passed," she said. "Well, the worst in terms of battle. The worst is yet to come. We must rebuild Middle Earth on a foundation of brotherhood."

"But that will come." She moved her head, and I found myself gazing into grey eyes. "Do not be afraid of what you know you can accomplish. You will be a great king, honored and brave. I know this."

In one sentence, it felt as if Lothíriel had looked into my soul and seen what I feared all along. Doubt, unbidden and unspoken, pressed against my lips wanting to be set free in a tumble of words. I wanted to tell her all of my dark thoughts, my fears and my agony; I wanted to be rid of it all. But my lips stayed locked together until I finally changed the conversation.

"Why are you still up, my lady?" I asked. Lothíriel blinked and then turned away from me, her eyes once again focusing on the mountains far away, her hand still entwined with mine.

"Am I not allowed to be awake?" she asked. She did not look at me, and I took her own question to be in self-defense.

"Did you have bad dreams?" I asked.

She did not reply for a while, and when she did, she did not look at me. In the moonlight a single tear glowed like a silver river down her cheek, tracing its path slowly. Her eyes were not squeezed shut, like I would have imagined, but rather opened wide and unseeing.

"I hear them, when I go to sleep – their cries. I hear the sounds as bodies they picked up crash into rooftops below, as the armies of darkness bombard our city. I feel his hand as it grows colder, I see the visions of his dark dreams, I feel the cold breath of death on my neck-"

I embraced her, my arms wrapped around her shoulders as she sobbed into my shirt. On her lap the hobbit still slept as her warm fingers clutched my thin shirt, hot tears making it damp.

I did not know what to say to make her feel better, nor what to do to comfort her. I felt a reversal - the one who once nursed needed to be taken care of. The guardian spirit who Lothíriel was now was replaced by a frightened human girl – no more than twenty, really – a girl who had seen horrors which she would never forget. A girl who seemed more self-possessed than others I had met – and probably would meet – crippled by the memory of her fear.

"We will save you from this," I whispered into her thick hair. The scent of flowers and something more – something like grass but not grass, something natural and fresh –filled my nostrils. This scent was Lothíriel and I inhaled it.

She moved, tear-stained face looking into mine, damp eyes reflecting the light of the moon and the stars. Her eyes hid secrets, secrets that I did not know and that I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything about her, from what images these fears took to her favorite food. I wanted to know her story, I wanted to fill her form in my mind, to make her as tangible to me in the daylight as she was at night.

For a moment she looked at me, her eyes wanting to tell me something yet I was unable to read it. Then her face hardened again, and she was the girl who tended my wounds in the Houses of Healing. She shifted away from me, looking down at the hobbit in her lap who was still asleep.

"He should-"

"I will-"We said in tandem, both of us knowing what should be done. Silently I stood up, lifting the small burden in my arms and taking him to lay on the couch in the sitting room. As I turned back to the balcony, I saw it empty. My company had gone. Fled into the night, like the remnants of a dream upon waking.

Perhaps this was all just a dream.


	12. Interlude: For Luck

_Author's Note: Long time, no update. I apologize, first it was writer's block for the section after this, then it was midterms. I'm also applying to graduate school, so that's absorbing a lot of my time. So I shall tease you with this now, and bring you the full update at the end of this week. _

**Interlude – For Luck (Imrahil POV)**

"And so you leave again."

She spoke these words to me from the doorway. Her voice, though low, did not revealed the sadness that her eyes showed. She stood tall and proud, trying to hid her feelings with her body. My heart cried out for what I was doing, what I had no choice in doing.

"We must go," I said. She nodded, looking away.

"I understand." She paused, and I waited. "Will this be the end?"

"The end?" I slid my sword into its sheath.

"Of this evil. Of the fight. I know you are merely a distraction so the ring bearer succeeds in his goal but what if he becomes corrupted? What if –"

I sighed. "We cannot fear anything anymore, Lothíriel. We must trust that what we do is right, and that we will protect Middle Earth by these actions."

Lothíriel had never liked war. She had never believed that things could be solved by fighting, and sometimes I agreed with her. She had not voiced these objections often during the past few days, and I had to believe that somehow she had internalized all she has learned about conflict. I felt guilty for bringing her here, for placing her in such danger, for indulging in a father's foolish wish not to be separated from his children.

Yet she did not seem to regret her decision to accompany me. Or, if she did, she did not tell me.

I crossed the room and stood in front of her. She stepped closer, and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

"Galu, Adar," she said. I held her arm's length from me. I did not know what to say. She had wished me luck. For a moment all my fears – losing my children, my home, my land, my people - came back to me. But I saw no other choice; I would fight, for all of it. I would fight for my people, for my sons and daughter. I would fight for their future, so that the youth of Gondor would have a future.

"Gûren ninnatha sui i lû tôl cên a adchen,sellen," I replied finally. "Take care of your cousin and the city."

She offered me a small smile. I knew that fear plagued her, and worries consumed her, but she would not let me see that. She would show me sadness, but not fear. Always so strong, rarely flinching, she masked her emotions well – in front of me, at least. "I will do my best."

"You have grown into a beautiful young woman," I said. She blushed and looked away.

"Father, save those words for another day. We'll discuss this when you return," she said, smiling at the compliment. I raised my arm.

"Will you escort me to the Citadel?" I asked. She nodded and placed her hand in mine. We walked in silence to the courtyard that opened onto the Citadel green.

Outside, Éomer waited. He was yet another young victim of this crisis. Much like my Lothíriel, he had been thrust into a position he did not fully want nor was ready for. And, much like her, he has the strength of will to do it justice. I expected to see great things of him during his reign.

"Prince Imrahil, Lady Lothíriel," he said as he bowed. Lothíriel dropped into a curtsey.

"I expect you to bring him home in one piece," she told him gravely. Éomer laughed, pretending not to be as nervous as he really was.

"I shall bring him home," he said, bowing. Lothíriel smiled, and then stepped forward. She placed a kiss on his cheek. As she stepped back, I noticed that his eyes had widened, surprised as I was by her action. I had known that Éomer and Lothíriel spoke often, but this display of affection had surprised us both.

"For luck," she said. "I wish you luck." Éomer bowed.

"I shall hope that that fate shall honor a lady's wish," Éomer said. Lothíriel nodded, and then looked back to me.

"I will do you honor," she said. "As best as I can."

I nodded. Éomer cleared his throat, and I turned towards our mounts, which awaited us at the gate.

"We will return, my lady," Éomer said. I could not speak my farewells to my daughter. I nodded, and follow him towards the horses.

Before we leave, I turned once more to look at her. My daughter stood tall before the Citadel, blue dress blowing in the wind. Her clear eyes gazed at us and beyond us, to the dark mountains that stood before us. This would be no easy task, but it was a necessary one.

"I will make sure we see your daughter again, my lord Imrahil," Éomer said as I turned.

"I will make sure I see her again as well," I replied. I nodded, and we started down the cobblestone street.

* * *

Vocab!

Good luck, father

My heart will weep until it sees you again, daughter.


	13. Restless

_Author's Note: It's been a long time, I know. The GREs caused this to be delayed, but expect the next section to be coming sooner! As always, enjoy, and please leave comments :)_

**Chapter 10: Restless** (Lothìriel POV)

It had been seven days since the dark army of Mordor lay siege to the White City. It had been seven days since my uncle's death. It had been five days since the riders of Rohan saved us. It had been five days since we found our King. It had been two days since the King lead his host to the Black Gates of Mordor.

It had been two days since the entire city had been placed under my rule.

My days had been long, my nights longer still. My every word was taken with utmost consideration, consideration I had neither expected nor desired, yet I could not deny that I had been ready for a role such as this my entire life. An entire city, with guards and soldiers and refugees and people from a foreign land...and of my ability to govern, I was not afraid.

My cousin still dwelt in the houses, though he would be soon released. No word had come, nothing to tell us if the host was safe. Nothing. Every hour, a new link was forged in my stomach, adding to the chain that seemed to coil inside me. When the advisors left, it became a heavy weight in my stomach, threatening to drag me down into a pit of fear and anxiety.

It was night on the third day, and the moon still shone brightly on the Pelennor. I had been restless and unable to sleep. My tired steps brought me here, to the low wall above the city. As a child I had been told to stay away from the point, for fear of falling to my death. Often I had looked at that space with fear, at the gap between the two walls, and felt my body chill. Now, instead, I leaned against it, looking down.

It was then I realized I had nothing more to fear.

Campfires dotted across the fields, their smoke mingling with smoldering ash from funeral pyres on the outer edges. The scent of incense, burnt with the bodies, reached my nostrils. At this height, I could see all that lay before me, and all that I would control. Battle scarred earth. Battled scarred people.

The Citadel was in shambles. Refugees – men, women, children, people of the court, people of the town – were returning slowly, hesitating, demanding security that could be provided in smaller and smaller amounts. A massive number of Gondor's men lay wounded or dead. There was a horde of Rohan in the fields, setting up camp. Messengers traveled back and forth with plans, kind words, questions. Something was always happening, not all of it due to me.

My uncle's advisors listened to me cautiously as I spoke of my plans to keep the city safe until Faramir assumed control. When I expressed interest of visiting the armory, and the food stores, they paid more attention. I toured the damaged battlements, observing where the critical weaknesses were and writing them down so Faramir would know upon his return. I knew he would likewise walk my same steps, but I also knew that, like me, he would appreciate my effort to inform him.

I reassigned troops, had a protective barrier placed over the gate and set up a ration system. Neighbors shared with those who lost homes or loved ones. The Houses administered to the sick. Everything seemed to be going well.

But every moment that I was not in front of the advisors, I seemed to become a different person. I was no longer called upon to govern, and so I wandered the Citadel, and the home of my uncle – my cousin's future home. I paced, and I avoided the two servants, mother and daughter, who had stayed. Every book I opened seemed impossible to read. Left alone, my mind was constantly working, constantly thinking and trying to process everything that had happened.

The only problem was, of course, that nothing like this had happened to me – to anyone – before. There was no category to place it under; no way to mend a life quickly after it seemed to have been ripped apart. At my worst moments, I could not breathe without feeling like I would unravel, slowly and surely, into a heap on the floor. Were it not for the immediate needs of Minas Tirith, I would have wilted before the cold. Nightmares haunted my dreams, phantoms of the past haunted my days. I was lost in a place bigger than I remembered, in a role I never expected.

Unwelcome thoughts surfaced where I least expected them. A shadow in the hall made me remember my cousin Boromir. A chance glance at a knight that had stayed to protect me made me think of Kel.

That was a heap I did not wish to unravel. My father did not push me towards eligible men – instead, they seemed to be inexplicably drawn on their own. Kel was the latest in a series of Knights that seemed to wish to know me better. And like all the Knights before him, the feeling was not mutual.

I bit my lip as I gazed towards Osgilliath, the smoke still rising days after the siege. If the Host succeeded at the Black Gate, then Middle Earth would be saved. Knights would return, some carrying great honor. They would vie for my hand, and unlike before, my father might actually encourage them.

Or it might be the King of Gondor he would encourage. A marriage between the two largest cities in Gondor would be advantageous and uniting. But King Elessar was much older than me, and though he seemed a great man, I was not interested. I had also heard that Éomer's sister had desired him, and a marriage between Gondor and Rohan would be more convenient politically, now that Rohan had come to our aid.

Marriage. Yet another thing that I did not want to think about at the moment, and something that continued to fill my uneasy mind.

I watched the clouds passing over the moon cast shadows on the fields. I had walked out on the fields but once, to observe the funeral of a Rohirrim marshal who had fallen. I felt I owed it to Éomer. He had lost so much here that it was the least I could do to honor him and his people.

Éomer. I could see his dark eyes lit up in the moonlight. I could read much in their depths – compassion, sympathy, sorrow. There were more thoughts there, thoughts that I dare not wonder the origin of. I chose not to dare. I did not think myself worthy to know a King's mind.

I could still feel his skin against my lips.

The feeling of him, close to me, did not seem to leave me even as he rode out onto the field towards the Black Gate. Even now, I could breathe in and smell his sweet, musky scent that seemed both foreign and natural to me. And that surprised me.

I drew my shawl tighter, chilled by the wind. When I thought of Éomer, I thought of Éowyn. I had gone to visit her yesterday, soon after the army left the city gates. She had stood on the battlement, a small, frail-looking figure dressed in white.

_But she is not frail_, I told myself. _She slay the foul Witchking while you cowered inside these very walls. _

When she turned to look at me, I had attempted to engage her in conversation. But she promptly turned away from me. My entreaties – that I was an acquaintance of her brother, that I was a lady was well – fell on deaf ears. Nothing I could say would tempt her to reply with more than terse comments.

Suddenly the walls seemed to suffocate me. The cries of the Nazgul echoed off the stone walls. It was here that I fought my battle. The faint, acrid smell of blood still tainted the air, and the faces of my patients danced before my eyes. I could feel the heat from my cousin's brow against my hand. I could feel Éomer's hair on my fingertips.

I stumbled out into the fresh air, gasping for breath and begging the cries to stop.

"What are you doing out here?"

I turned to see Merry, cousin of Pippin, standing behind me. I was once again on the Seventh Level. The Houses were not far – but far enough – behind me.

"I could ask you the same," I replied, shaking after being jarred from my memory. "You startled me."

"I couldn't sleep," Merry said, coming closer. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was surprised you were out here."

"I never sleep," I replied. I hadn't meant to sound as terse as I did, so I offered him a weak smile.

"I am sorry," Merry said. "Do you have nightmares as well?"

"Yes," I replied, pulling my shawl closer still and looking out on the fields. "And I don't like talking about them." Upon realizing that I was again sounding much harsher than I meant, I added, "They frighten me when I am sleeping, and when I am awake."

Merry said nothing. He drew closer, looking down on the burnt fields. I remembered that he had also dealt the Witch King a blow. His body, unconscious, was brought into the Houses. I remembered thinking it was a child's body, until I noticed the unusually large feet.

"Tell me something about you that I don't know," I said quietly. "For neither of us wishes to dwell on foul subjects, and I could use some company." And any chance to change the conversation was welcomed by me.

Beaming, Merry looked up at me. "I'm an esquire of Rohan!" he exclaimed. "Or, at least, I was. But I'm not sure anymore."

"Not sure?"

"King Théoden made me an esquire. I'm not sure that King Éomer will do likewise."

"Éomer is a good man – I'm sure he would appreciate your gesture of loyalty," I said, happy to be talking about Éomer again. It pleased me in the familiarity I felt with the topic, though I barely knew him.

I had to admit, however, that I missed him. It was difficult for me to find someone pleasant to talk with, and his absence was felt very strongly.

"I think he is," Merry said, looking off into the distance. "And his sister as well."

"She will not speak to me," I said. "I do not know why. Before he left, Éomer asked that I speak with her, more for his sake than hers. Yet she is unresponsive to my inquiries."

"She does enough speaking with Lord Faramir, my lady, to exhaust herself," Merry said gloomily.

"Oh?" I asked. She spoke to Faramir? Of course, they were in the Houses together...

"She takes walks with him every day." The hobbit sounded jealous as he leaned against the wall.

"We shall take walks, if you wish," I said, hoping to appease him. Merry looked up at me.

"I would like that," he replied, smiling. "I'll be the envy of all the Shire, walking with a beautiful lady."

I smiled a small smile, looking away. I hadn't realized a gesture, meant to appease a sad heart, would uplift as it did.

"What do you worry about?" my hobbit friend asked.

"Worry?"

"You look sad."

"I suppose I am sad. I'm all alone here, Merry. This is a lot more than I thought it would be."

"Are you frightened?"

The question, asked with the childlike intensity of the hobbit, caught me off-guard. I had told myself that I had nothing more to fear. Could I possibly be scared? And then all my fears tumbled out of my mouth.

"Yes," I finally said, my voice a mere whisper. "My father and my brother, are out at the Black Gate. If the Men of the West do not succeed, my other two brothers will be killed fighting evil in the South. My uncle and my cousin are already dead. It will be Faramir and myself, and darkness will not let Minas Tirith out of her grip." I felt wetness on my checks. "I am ashamed because I am selfish. I am scared because my future is still undecided. I am scared because I am afraid my entire life will not be of my own making. I am scared of losing everything."

I closed my eyes. Had I been fighting this all week, and not knowing this was what I truly feared?

"We're all scared. But Aragorn is strong. He will lead us to victory," Merry said quietly.

"Do you miss your home?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Yes. A little. I miss Frodo more."

Frodo. The ringbearer. Oh, the price he must pay to set us all free! I looked down to see tears in Merry's eyes. Like I had with Pippin a few days before, I sat down and held him tightly against me.

All I could do was pray that they all would come home safe. The pieces of their lives were here, in Minas Tirith, or farther away. Daughter or sister or nephew or cousin or friend or lover, we needed them to make us whole.

* * *

I visited the Houses the next day, and Éowyn was surprisingly warm towards me. Her questions, delivered in her cold manner, made me suspect that a few well chosen words from a young hobbit made her change her stance towards me. Yet when I left, I was certain she was convinced she would never like me – she would merely tolerate my interference into her life. 

My cousin was quickly regaining his strength, and as I told him of my plans for his city while he was ill, he interrupted to tell me about the Lady Éowyn. I could see the love in his eyes, and it touched me enough to allow me to stay in the claustrophobic houses for another hour, as he told me his fears and dreams.

I did not believe I would ever really appreciate the White Lady of Rohan even a fraction of the amount my cousin did, but I resolved to try for his benefit to tolerate her as much as she would tolerate me. I could see Éomer's concern – her cold manner was merely an extension of her sadness. I wondered if she really was as wonderful as Faramir proclaimed. I did not doubt him, yet I would have to see it with my own eyes.

And soon after, the eagles came. And they told us of the fall of Sauron, and the victory of the Men of the West. And the bells rang, and the people cried out in joy.

And my heart wept, for they were all safe. They would come home to me.


	14. The Beautiful Scholar

_Author's Note: A super-fast update! Thank you to all the feedback - it always makes my day. Thank you to the new readers as well - I hope you keep reading, for I am not done yet. Let's consider this a Halloween present (though it's more tender than scary :p) and I **promise** that Éomer will return in the next chapter :) Feedback, as always, it loved_

**Chapter 11: The Beautiful Scholar** (Faramir POV)

"So what do you think?"

A pair of grey eyes looked up from piles of parchment and met my own. She blinked.

"This is a terrible mess," Lothíriel said as she placed her quill back in its inkpot, and stretched her arms above her head. Unlike myself, who had the luxury of visiting the both the armory stores and the food stores this morning, she had spent the morning listening to estimates by the royal architect and engineer as to how much it would take to rebuild the outer wall and the city defenses. Since the battle, the city had started the process of recovery as refugees trickle back in slowly.

"I do not know what to do," she sighed. She looked down at the papers before her. "Technically, one would believe that the party that caused the damage would be the one to handle the payment of repercussions. However, we are not dealing with a nation like those south of us, where we know that they have the means to handle that. We are dealing with evil itself, and there's no way to get reimbursement from evil. And the men! If I did not copy everything down I do not think they would have believed I understood what they said."

"Did you understand?" I asked. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Most of it."

I laughed at her response as I sank down into the seat opposite hers. "Well you are right about one thing."

"They were arrogant?" she said, studying another paper.

"No - there is no money in the treasury to afford it. It is practically decimated. The stores are limited. The refugees are starting to worry me but I wager I have more important problems."

"Like a coronation," Lothíriel said.

"I forgot about that," I said, closing my eyes and rubbing them with the tips of my fingers.

"Do not worry - while you were incapacitated and I had a great deal of free time, I did some research about what a coronation in this city would be like." I opened my eyes to see a paper being dangled before me. Taking it, I skimmed the contents.

"I see..." I finally said. "I have one question – you list a possible source of income."

"When there is a royal event, people will always set up stands selling 'king flowers' or 'miniature crowns'" Lothíriel said. "They will need to set up stands on the street –"

"And we could charge a slight fee for the rent of land, much like we do with public market stalls," I said. My cousin is indeed quite brilliant.

"Well...the King should arrive in two more days. We are already charging that slight fee. It should give us enough money to handle what the coronation might cost in terms of food that needs to be found and possibly bought –"

"We could barter for that with something-"I interjected. Lothíriel continued.

"We already are – the private stores are full of meat and fruit and bread that people coming into the city have brought us. And never mind that people will need somewhere to stay – at least the inns will make money, and commerce might boom again –"

"You have thought of everything." I smiled my cousin. "I think there is nothing you have not considered."

"I have had a lot of free times on my hands. Although the last thing we need to do is decorate the Hall for the coronation banquet."

"We already have tapestries...somewhere," I add. Lothíriel nodded.

"That is my next project – finding the coronation tapestries. I am glad not all of the servants of the steward left – the royal quarters have not been cleaned in years and now that we have a king..."

"Turning into a domestic, Lote?" I asked. Lothíriel laughed and shoke her head.

"Sadly, no. I do not think I could be content with the running of a household," she says. "I need more stimulus than just managing household accounts and making sure my children are educated. Besides, I do not foresee marriage just yet." She paused here, and looked at me with a sly grin.

"You, on the other hand, are smitten," she said. "With the White Lady of Rohan."

I shook my head, but I could not deny her words. Save for the time spent with my cousin, the most uplifting moments of my day happened when I was near Éowyn . In fact, my entire soul seemed to shine in her white light.

"You do not deny it," Lothíriel teased. "I am right."

"Which brings me to a new subject," I said. "The Rohirrim."

"What about them?" She asked. She furrowed her brows. "And which are we referring to? The ones that went to the Gate, or the ones that are here?"

"The ones that are camped outside the gates of the City," I said. "And the ones in the Houses of Healing. And the ones that will come back from the Gate."

"I say we give that problem on the White Lady when she gets better-"

"Lothíriel!" I said. "She fought the Witch King! Allow her to rest and heal herself."

"First off, dear cousin, she is the sister of their king," Lothíriel replied. "So, they would respect whatever she says more than what we say. Unless we throw the King at them, in which case we're saved effort."

"Which King?"

"Ours. Or theirs. Either will work. Anyway," Lothíriel waved her hand in the air and continues. "Yes, she fought the Witch King and most valiantly too. I am not degrading her service, I am merely moving past it for the moment. Regardless of her physical state...her emotional state is a different subject." Her voice lowered to a more confidential tone. "I think you understand what I am talking about."

I nodded, not saying anything. While my appreciation for Éowyn had grown considerably, I was not sure of her opinion of me, nor how brightly the torch she carried for Aragorn burned.

"While both of you lie in the Houses of Healing, I had an opportunity to speak with her brother," Lothíriel continued, her voice still serious and low. I vaguely remembered seeing a blond man behind the King, but fear hid the rest of my dreams from me. I did remember that I woke holding Lothíriel's hand.

"And what did he say?"

"That this bravery on his sister's behalf was brought on by fear of being left behind while the men went to battle, and whatever affection she has for Aragorn," she replied. "In her brother's mind, she was tired of being left behind while the men went off to war. Aragorn provided the catalyst for her own decision to ride to battle – better to die a valiant death than to life in a cage." Lothíriel paused.

My mind whirled. Did this idea go through every woman's head when the men ride off to battle?

"Before you ask, cousin, the answer is no. Not all women think like this," Lothíriel said softly. She knew me too well. "It depends on the woman, and how she feels about battle. You know that I can stand the sight of blood, but detest the idea of wounding or killing someone to gain some greater reward. I prefer more scholarly pursuits, such as treaties." She laughed, then looked away from me out the window.

"Often, I detest being left at home while those I love are sent out to fight. The idea that death might meet them on the battlefield leaves me uneasy. Yet, I realize that as the one left behind, the lives of countless others depend on projecting an image of my strength as much as our lives depend on those who protect us. It is all connected. And so, I shoulder my responsibility without qualms, knowing my job is just as important as a soldier's, for we are both protecting others."

I looked at my cousin, who did not meet my questioning glance. I had thought about the women we left behind, but seeing that my father never rode out to war, and that my mother died when I was younger, I never considered a more contemporary example. I was surprised when I found the keys of the cities on a narrow belt around her waist, but I was not surprised to know that she had effectively established a temporary rations system, amongst her other accomplishments.

"I do know," Lothíriel said, "or, rather, I do speculate, that the Lady Eowyn's affection for Lord Aragorn is only related to her glorification of his wartime persona. In laymen's terms, I wager it will dissolve as sure as the mist is dissolved by the sun each morn."

"You think this to be the case?" I asked. Lothíriel nods her head.

"I know you care for her, and I'm sure she cares for you – she is willing to spend time with you, and I've heard that little hobbit mutter that she prefers your company over his."

"Are you becoming a matchmaker, my dear cousin?" I asked. She shook her head.

"I only wish to see you happy."

"Perhaps I can find a match for you," I teased. Lothíriel laughed.

"I am too much for most men," she said. Her voice was jovial, but I detected a note of underlying saddness. "They approach me as a beautiful princess worth a king's ransom. Once they get to know me, that vision fades and they see me as a creature – a woman who is educated. I can never be myself around them for fear that I will send them running." She smiled a sad smile. "It will take a special sort of man to fall in love with me, Faramir. I do not quite know if he exists yet, but I hope I find him. And if you'll excuse me, I will see to lunch."

_A beautiful scholar_, I though. I had seen the men flock around her, only to disappear when it turned out she has read more than they have. I have heard from my uncle and cousins that politicians size her up, seeing a future marriage to their sons. I knew men to throw themselves at her to merely drag themselves away in heartbreak. For not only was Lothíriel beautiful but she was intelligent and – an important thing for the men of Gondor – both elven and Dunedain, a daughter of Numenor.

I had heard of her intrigues – usually with a friend of an elder brother, stolen kisses behind statues, nothing more nothing less. They would propose marriage, and sing songs of love and she would still reject them, or turned her attention to something else – a war council, a treaty, a new book, something else. There was something that frightened her, I thought, about the concept of marriage and perhaps even love Something about a fear of being trapped, a fear of not being able to truly live if she had a husband.

As a child, I had heard rumours of my mother's wasting away, mostly from my uncle. He always seemed so worried that the 'curse of Dol Amroth' would fall about Lothíriel. Her own mother, a woman from Lebanin, had died in childbirth, and my uncle was a superstitious man. He worried he would lose his most precious daughter, and feared her eventual marriage.

I could not imagine Lothíriel in any of the official marriages that were so frequently performed in Minas Tirith. I could not imagine her being happy while her husband chose a courtesan over her, or content to step back from being active in government and be forced to give up reading to mind the house in utter boredom. Whoever married Lothíriel would have to love her for who she was, not marry her for the sake of having a wife.

"Perhaps you are right," I murmured to myself. "You deserve a special sort of man, Lothíriel, and I hope you find him." For I could not bear to see another flower wilt in harsh surroundings.


	15. To Become Accustomed To

_Author's Note: Sorry it's been a while - I've been insanely busy. But on the bright side, the following chapters will come quicker! I hope you enjoy this and, as always, reviews make me happy :)_

**Chapter 12: To Become Accustomed To** (Éomer POV)

The terror has been vanquished. The Men of the West have defeated the darkness, and freed our people from fear.

I had not yet become accustomed to the fact that I would not have to wage war against evil anymore. My people were safe – my people. Mine. I ruled them now. They were my responsibility. And I had not become accustomed to the increase in responsibility.

There was yet another thing I had not become accustomed to – a title. It was one thing to be the nephew of the king, to be the leader of an eored. It was another thing to be the king. All throughout the days we rode to the Black Gate, I did not believe I was the king of Rohan – I was just the leader of my eored. And now, things were different. I had a full host of guards, and was addressed much more formally now.

I did not think I would ever get used to it. Especially not when we returned to Minas Tirith.

It was nightfall, and we huddled around a fire. Even though it was nearing spring, the nights were still bitter cold. Around me sat Aragorn, now the King of Gondor, and Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, as well as Gandalf, Gimli, and Legolas. We were exhausted and yet exhilarated, for it is but two days until we reach Minas Tirith.

"I, for one, am looking forward to good ale," Gimli said, smoking his pipe. Gandalf laughed as our companion's words.

"I do not doubt that Minas Tirith will lack for ale," he said. He did not say why he thought this, though the rest of us knew: Aragorn's coronation as King of Gondor. Aragorn himself had been quiet of late, and I suspected that he, though living throughout his life knowing he was the rightful King, was not yet ready to be called by the title as well.

"I worry about Lothíriel," Imrahil said, taking a sip from his mug. Concern was clearly written on his face.

Lothíriel. Her image seemed to be burned in my mind of late, as I found my thoughts turning to her more and more often.

"She has her cousin for company," I remarked quietly.

"But she was worried – frightened – when I left." Imrahil paused. "She is never worried. Or at least, if she is worried I have never seen it. She is extraordinarily self-possessed for a young woman."

In my mind I see her in the moonlight, her grey eyes seeming to see into my soul.

"I too have seen that," Gandalf said. "She is indeed very intelligent, as well as brave. To accept the stewardship of Minas Tirith until her cousin recovers takes strength."

"Indeed, she is strong and intelligent. But she is also a daughter, which makes it more difficult. With a daughter, she is given to you and you know that some day you must give her away."

I caught the sadness in his look as he stared towards the fire.

Two young men were approaching from the soldier's camps. I recognized one as Amrothos, the Prince's youngest son and Lothíriel's brother. Both Lothíriel and Amrothos had the same lightness of eyes and darkness of hair. But the man with him I did not recognize. Darker, with dark brown eyes and hair, he did not look anything like Amrothos – in fact, he looked like he was from farther south.

"Amrothos, Kel," Imrahil said, looking up and greeting them. "Would you care to join us?"

"No, Father, we are fine – we were looking for Master Gimli," Amrothos replied. "There is a fellow from Rohan bragging about going into the Mines of Moria and-"

"I shall set him straight." Gimli immediately jumped up and followed the two young men.

"You must be proud of your children," Aragorn repeated. A small smirk was still on his face at the dwarf's instant reaction.

"Yes." Imrahil contemplated his mug again. "Amrothos is a good fighter, and a good man. He will do well with the Swan Knights. And with him was Kel, a friend of my second son. Kel seeks Lothíriel's heart, though he has not made a direct offer for marriage."

My heart leapt into my throat, surprising me. Of course Lothíriel had suitors – she was spellbinding. Why had I not considered this before?

_Why did it matter at all?_

"It must pain you to think of parting with her," Legolas remarked. Imrahil laughed.

"He favors her. I did not say that she favored him. Lothíriel is very...discriminating...in her tastes. I have had many offers for her hand, but I will not make the final decision. I vowed long ago to never let my daughter be wed to a man she may not love for my own benefit. I have seen too many fair women wither away like that, and I would not have Lothíriel wither as well."

"Finduilas." Aragorn breathed the name softly, and Imrahil looked up, pain visible in his eyes.

"The rocks of Minas Tirith are no place for a flower to grow," Aragorn said firmly. Imrahil nodded.

"And a flower she is – fairer than she looks, yet able to weather most storms." Imrahil took a sip of his ale, and I spoke up.

"A father and mother can take much pride in a daughter like Lothíriel," I said quietly. Imrahil looked at me.

"Her mother is no longer with us," Imrahil said. "She died during Lothíriel's birth. I have raised her alone." The pain was clearly evident in his eyes, and I felt ashamed.

"I am sorry, my friend," I remarked, feeling awkward and embarrassed.

"No, friend, you did not know. I miss my wife dearly, as I do my sister. All the more reason that I would keep Lothíriel locked up in Dol Amroth forever. But I cannot. The girl has a mind of her own – sometimes modest, sometimes reckless, always passionate. She'll find her way elsewhere. I just fear I shall lose her as well."

I looked down at my own mug as Legolas began to ask Imrahil of his elven ancestors. I felt a twinge of guilt when I spoke to Imrahil. It was Lothíriel I thought of when the hour was darkest – not Éowyn, nor any other member of my family. Lothíriel in the moonlight filled my mind, and a desire to see her again coursed through my blood. Even now I did not know what caused that image to come to mind though the thought of not seeing her face again made me fight harder.

I felt embarrassed for I barely knew her, and yet she had become the symbol of what I was fighting for. I did not know what she represented, just that I fought for her.

I stood up suddenly, and took my leave of my companions with merely a nod. My stomach felt uneasy as I walked back to my tent.

Another thing I would never get accustomed to was the King of Rohan's large tent and guards outside it. _Thank the gods I do not solicit camp followers_ I thought with a small smile as I walked towards it.

"Éomer!" I heard someone call. I turned to see Aragorn had followed me.

"You are troubled, my friend," Aragorn said once the distance had be crossed. I nodded to the guards, who spread out further so that Kings may have a conversation in peace. At least there were some things I liked about being King – I could still command some privacy if it looked important.

"I am embarrassed for putting salt in a fresh wound," I said.

"You did not know," Aragorn replied. "Indeed, it has been twenty years since she died, yet for Imrahil it feels like only yesterday." Aragorn paused. "He loved her dearly. She was a good woman. Lothíriel bears a strong resemblance to her, and to her aunt, and so I imagine it must be difficult - raising a daughter after sons cannot be easy, yet he has managed very well."

"Yes he has," I replied.

"So what troubles you further?"

"Nothing," I answered honestly. "With Sauron vanquished, things should be easier."

"No – I did not mean you were troubled in matters of warfare. Your thoughts are troubled, as is your heart."

I frowned. "I do have a great many things to worry about. Rohan, for one, and Éowyn for another –"

Aragorn offered me a sad smile. "I am not speaking of you country or your sister." He paused, and I wondered if he was unsure of what to say next. "I am speaking of Lothíriel."

I looked away, feeling embarrassed once more, as if my thoughts were written on my face for Aragorn to read. Aragorn laughed.

"I see that I am right. You care for the lady, do you not?"

"I barely know her, Aragorn," I said as I started to defend myself and then changed my thought midstream. "And she does not know me. In truth, I do not know what any of my thoughts mean."

"She is a beautiful woman, Éomer," Aragorn said. "And she has qualities not found in other women of the West."

Once again, I felt my heart in my throat. Was Aragorn interested in Lothíriel's hand? Why was I so worried about this? I was acting like a young boy!

"My friend, you have both been through a great tragedy together – it is not uncommon that you feel there is a bond."

"Maybe. It still feels wrong – and confusing – to think about her. I have more pressing matters that I should be thinking about – not a princess from Belfalas," I said. My frown deepened. I would have to not think about her if Aragorn had designs on her. I could not think about the future wife of my friend.

"Perhaps the princess from Belfalas and those pressing matters are related?" Aragorn offered.

I laughed. "Sir, I do not know why you encourage me, if you favor her as well."

Now Aragorn laughed. "Do not think by my words I favor her. I do indeed admire the Lady Lothíriel, but my heart lies in Rivendell." His eyes took on a far-off look, and I could see love and happiness for his lady in them.

"I am sure she is a great lady to earn the love of a king," I remarked. "I look forward to meeting her."

Aragorn smiled. "And perhaps finding your own great lady to love?"

"Love," I said cynically. "I do not have time for that." Indeed, I had always placed it farthest from my mind, and I intended to keep it there as long as possible.

"Love – and your great lady – will find you, Eomer. Perhaps they have already." With his cryptic words, Aragorn turned and left.

I frowned again. I could sense the direction he had nudged my thoughts, but I would resist it – for now – if I could.

As much as I admired Lothíriel, she was still a stranger to me in many ways. My thoughts during towards her – as well as my reactions when her name was brought up – were convincing me that I was enamored with her. I kicked at a rock on the ground.

_There's much to be enamored about_, I thought. She was beautiful, educated, thoughtful, and not adverse to taking on respondsibility. Beyond all that, however, there seemed to be something deeper – something which kept her going. A deep abiding love of those dear to her. And I could sense beneath her perfect exterior something lurking below – a mischievous, passionate nature that the walls of Minas Tirith would slowly suffocate.

_Now the fields of Rohan..._ my inner voice called but I spun violently and entered my tent, hoping to clear my head of these thought. I barely knew the girl and I would _not_ consider marriage...thought the prospect was there...

I growled and stormed out of the tent to find my men. Perhaps I could not stop my thoughts, but more ale could.

* * *

We arrived at Minas Tirith to fanfare and floating petals. Waiting for us were Elfhelm and Éowyn. My sister was fully recovered and glowing in white. Waiting for Gondor were men of the White Tower, and a man I recognized as the sick Steward, Faramir, son of Denethor. 

And beside him, dressed in the deep blue of Dol Amroth, was Lothíriel.

Unlike the other times I had seen her in formal settings, her long hair was down and a small silver diadem was atop her dark curls. She looked to me more beautiful than the rumored elves of Rivendell. I had never seen a sight more lovely in my life.

She did not move as the Steward approached Aragorn. Instead, she stood back. In her arms she cradled a bundle of flowers – lilies. They stood out against the darkness of her dress, and the rosy glow of her skin. I realized, soon enough, that I was staring at her, and turned my attention to the Steward and Aragorn.

Aragorn had called for Frodo, the ringbearer, and Gandalf to come forward. Frodo brought the crown to Aragorn, and Gandalf crowned him. A cheer arose from the city above us, and I felt a shiver of excitement. Gondor had gained a King.

From behind them, Lothíriel stepped forward and curtseyed. She presented the flowers to Aragorn, and spoke in Elvish to him. Aragorn nodded, and she rose. In the sunlight I saw a sheen on her checks, and realized that she was crying. On her face was a smile larger and brighter than the day itself, and I knew she was happy. Indeed, all of Gondor was happy. It had been too long since King graced its halls.

The Host moved towards the City. Before I entered with them, however, I headed towards my sister.

"You are well!" I exclaimed as she threw herself into my arms. Indeed, the smile on her face was beyond any I could recall.

"I am well," she echoed, studying me. "It is good to see you."

"And you – tell me, what makes you so happy? For I doubt my safe return has caused all this?" I replied. Éowyn giggled at this and her gaze went behind me. I turned to see the Steward speaking with Lothíriel, who rode on a tan horse.

"I see that you have returned my family to me in once piece," she said once she noticed me, a smile on her face. I nodded, feeling like a boy with a crush.

"I would not lie to a lady," I replied. Lothíriel laughed, and looked at me. Her gaze softened, and she seemed to look at me intently. In her gaze I felt small, like an ant, and yet exhilarated. I felt as if I could do anything.

"I shall see you at the celebration," she said finally, spurring her horse forward into the dense crowd before us.

"My lord!" I heard someone cry. I turned to see Elfhelm, holding the reigns of Firefoot.

"It is good to see you again, my King," Elfhelm remarked.

"Come now, Elfhelm, you know me better than to show me such respect!" I said jokingly. My good friend and fellow marshal laughed.

"Indeed."

"I see my sister has recovered," I said, looking over my shoulder at Eowyn, who stood by Faramir and Imrahil.

"Indeed she has. The Steward is a good man," Elfhelm said. The two subjects were obviously one. I made a note of it for future reference.

"That is good. How has life been while we were away?"

"As well as it could be. We received rations, and we buried our dead, and the Lady of Dol Amroth was very kind," he said.

"How did she fare?" I asked. "She was worried."

"She managed the city with a steady hand. Those of us here could not see that she was worried. She did a fine job."

"Good," I replied. I no longer wanted to wait to attend the celebration any longer. I wished to see Lothíriel now.

"I need some good ale," I said. Elfhelm laughed.

"Then ale you shall have – the lady has been planning the festivities all week!" Elfhelm said jovially. "But first you should rest. The journey has been long, I would imagine, and the celebration will be even longer still."

I turned to my old friend and nodded agreement. I would have to wait to see Lothíriel, but after becoming accustomed to an image in my head, anything was far better.


	16. Interlude: The Dance

_Author's Note: Just an interlude that needed to go between the chapter before and the following. I'll be adding the following chapter (13) tonight. Wahoo? Wahoo! But yeah...this just sets the stage for the following chapter, so read this and then read the next chapter and take it all in. Thanks for reading :)_

**Interlude: The Dance** (Aragorn POV)

I watched as she danced. She moved gracefully and I thought of how much she reminded me of my own beloved. Indeed, both ladies were graceful and both ladies had long limbs, dark hair, large eyes and Elven blood. But this lady was not pureblood elf. She was Númenorian, Dunedain, a mortal lady through and through. In Minas Tirith, women claimed traces of the blood of Númenor in them, but those that possessed more than others were the ones of greater, older families. Likewise in Dol Amroth, the blood remained.

Dol Amroth had remained loyal to the kings, my ancestors. I knew they would remain loyal to me. Imrahil was a good man, his sons and daughter likewise good and fair. Lothíriel had impressed me by her dedication to the people of Gondor, and to her cousin.

I watched as Éomer stood up, and quietly made his way towards her. She smiled and took his hand, and he led her to out to dance. I remembered my conversation with him several days before. I had heard from Imrahil that Lothíriel had cleaned and bound Éomer's wounds at the Houses of Healing, and that they had spoken often.

It was obvious to me that my friend was very much taken by the princess, but would not admit it. I did not know why. Perhaps she had not expressed interest in him? Perhaps he would place his kingdom before himself? Perhaps he had a woman he loved in Rohan?

To my left, Faramir sat next to Éowyn. Their heads and bodies leaned towards each other, and I had heard rumors that the Steward had asked for the White Lady's hand in marriage, and she had accepted. Whether the rumors were true, I did not know. But indeed, it was good to see her smile, and she had chosen the right man.

I looked back to the dancing couple, not surprised to see the genuine smile on my friend's face, as well as the look on his partner's. All evening, she had looked joyful, exuberant. Now the happiness had subdued, and while she wore a smile on her face, it was different. It was reverent, almost. They moved as if she was nothing but a wind spirit. But it was more than that. They seemed both comfortable in close proximity, as well as in tune with each other's movements.

Éomer had lowered Lothíriel backwards, his face coming close against her neck. As they straightened, I caught a look in their eyes before someone jostled them. Quickly, Éomer pushed Lothíriel behind him, shielding her from the fight. His hands – and hers – rested on his waist.

The men fighting were a Swan Knight and a Rider. Éomer quickly let go of Lothíriel and pulled the Rider away from the knight. He placed a hand between them, and the Swan Knight was going for a blow before he realized who the man stopping the fight was.

In that instant Lothíriel stepped forward, speaking calmly to the man, telling him he had too much ale and that tonight was for rejoicing. She offered him her next dance, but he slumped at a table with his friends after apologizing to the Lady for his behavior. She quickly smiled and said a few more kind words, then turned to the Rider who was being held back by Éomer. Again, more soothing words were spoken and pride settled, and the dance began again.

But the moment – the intensity, it had seemed – between Lothíriel and Éomer seemed to have faded. She danced with her brother, and Éomer quietly retreated to the sidelines.

I frowned. It was obvious that Lothíriel felt something towards Éomer. But neither seemed as if they would act upon any feelings. If they both continued this way, it would be a long dance indeed.


	17. Actions and Words

_Author's Note: Thank you to all my reviewers for your encouragement. This is for you 3 for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter! There's much more where this came from (especially in the unresolved sexual tension department...). I've said too much. Go read, and reviews are excellent and make my day!_

**Chapter 13: Actions and Words** (Lothíriel POV)

The celebration was still strong when I left, deciding I needed quiet as opposed to the incessant noise of joyful partygoers. My head full of wine, I retreated to the house my family would be staying for one more day, before moving into the House of the Steward to keep Faramir company.

As I walked through the first floor, I saw a figure on the balcony. As I drew near, I saw that it was Éomer, still dressed in his luxurious velvet tunic with gold braid. I thought it was a handsome tunic for a handsome man.

I had to admit that he was the most handsome man I had ever met. Some of Amrothos' friends were not hideous, but Éomer was...exotic. In Dol Amroth and in Gondor, our men were tall but not built like all the Rohirrim I had seen. And we seemed to favor dark hair and pale complexions, save for in Dol Amroth where so much time was spent in the sun that hair often lightened and faces often darkened. I found myself admiring Éomer's broad shoulders – he was easily bigger than any man I had met before – as well as his blond hair. And I did admire his eyes – not pale blue or dark brown, but a combination of the two that I found to be both intense and respectful. He seemed to always be questioning, measuring, observing, and I liked that.

I had noticed him glancing at me earlier tonight and I found that I did not fear his gaze. He did not leer at me like so many men did, nor did he stare. He seemed to be looking for answers to questions he did not vocalize. He didn't make me feel like an object for sale: he made me feel like I was some object he hadn't fully examined but wanted to very badly.

And I liked that even more.

Ever the warrior, he turned toward me as I approached him, offering me a dignified bow.

"It seems I have stumbled upon you, my lord," I said, curtseying. I was grateful I still had my balance. "Usually it is the other way around."

"So it seems. Call me Éomer," he said. "If it would not offend your sensibilities to do so, and you allow me to call you Lothíriel."

"No, it does not. I am glad that you allow me to address you on such casual terms, since you are a king," I replied. _I had already been calling him Éomer in my thoughts for days beforehand..._

"I am a man first and foremost, a man who does not care for such polite behavior in conversation. And I wish that you would not look at me as a king, but as a man first and foremost."

I laughed as I drew closer to him. The wine made him talk in circles and made me bolder, and more openly flirtatious. "I do think of you as a man, not a king. So do not worry."

"Thank you, Lothíriel," Éomer replied. He fixes his hazel eyes on me. "How has the evening treated you?"

"Well enough, I would think. The wine and ale flowed freely, I had many dance partners," I said. "I was able to dance with most of them twice, save for this one foreign fellow...he was from Rohan, I believe. Terribly rude people, he didn't seem to want to dance with me again. I felt terribly slighted since our first dance was interrupted."

I slyly look sideways towards him, hoping he has caught my joke. Éomer smiles and holds his hands behind his back.

"As his king, I can tell you that the man's actions do not speak for all of Rohan, since they are a rather polite people of good, hearty stock. But perhaps the man was intimidated by the other men, specifically from your own land, who wished to dance with you, and therefore did not ask for a second dance?"

"That might be a logical explanation," I said. My body seemed to hum from the wine.

"But I am sure he did not mean to insult, and therefore may I ask you to dance in his stead?"

"There is no music," I replied. Nonchalantly, Éomer held out his hand and smiled.

"There is moonlight. Just one dance?"

My heart jumped into my chest. How much ale Éomer had to drink I did not know. I did know that this was perhaps the most romantic situation I had ever been in.

I curtseyed. "If this shall make amends, then perhaps I shall accept."

I placed my hand in his and allowed him to take me further out onto the terrace of the balcony.

"I am sorry I did not ask you for another dance," Éomer said as he placed his hand on my waist. "It was wrong of me, for I sincerely enjoy your company."

"Oh?" I asked, my heart beating faster as we began moving. "Sincerely?"

Éomer spun me. "Yes. Sincerely."

"Why do you like my company, Éomer?" I asked as I danced with him.

"Because you are thoughtful," he said. He seemed to realize that he did not convey all he had meant with one word, for he nervously fumbled to say "You weigh matters carefully. You are not impetuous, and you understand there is more to life than to be ruled by one's passion."

"Are you saying I am devoid of all feeling?" I asked, surprised that a man who always seemed at ease with himself and his words seemed ill at ease. I frowned. Perhaps he did not admire me as much as his former statement implied, and it was only remnants of celebratory spirits that made him speak so? I would be saddened, for I did admire the young King in many different ways, but I was also young, and despite Éomer implied, passion and impulse had always seemed to rule most of my ideas – romantic, at least.

"No – I did not mean that. I think passion runs deep in your veins, and it expresses itself in ways other than bursts of folly. I think that passion makes you care as much as you do about matters, and this passion intrigues me."

"I see."

"I think you choose your words carefully when you speak, but I can see behind them you mean what you say. Your resolve impresses me, but not as much as your manner." And, realizing he had done it again, he sighed. "Forgive me – I'm trying to flatter you as best I can but it's not working."

"That's alright, I get the idea," I laughed.

"Lothíriel –" Éomer started. He stopped dancing and I placed my hands on his chest playfully.

"No, Éomer, I understand and if you will believe me, the fact that you have such a high opinion of me humbles me indeed. For I have come to admire you as well, and being held in esteem by someone you hold in esteem is –" I paused. "I think I've had a bit much wine."

"No, I understand," Éomer said. "Thank you for your opinion. I hope I never do anything to tarnish it."

I smiled. "I doubt you could."

At this point, the remnants of the alcohol haze cleared slightly and I realized that Éomer was looking at me with an intent gaze. My hands were on his chest, his hands on my waist. Our bodies were close.

Over the past few weeks, I had realized my romantic fixation with the King of Rohan. I found myself wishing for his company and after a particularly intense day in the Citadel wishing to be held by him. He had held me once, on the balcony above us before he left, and I had never felt more comfort than I felt in his arms. Any time I was near him, I felt something I couldn't distinguish.

I had often heard of people becoming taken with someone who had been through a similar stressful ordeal. I did not necessarily think I was succumbing to this, because I did not necessarily know if Éomer felt anything for me other than as a charming princess. Today I learned he admired me. I wondered if perhaps we were both suffering under delusions of camaraderie, though we had both been through strikingly different circumstances.

And right now, I did not really care.

I felt my heart beating and his heart and his eyes were staring at me with intent. Was he going to kiss me? He was going to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me. I did not know why I wanted him to kiss me. I did know I had never wanted any man to kiss meso badly before, and probably would not again.

He leaned his head down slightly, and I took a deep breath.

And suddenly drew back in fear. From below us, in the city, came a loud shriek. I turned around, looking below and soon hearing more laughter. Party-goers, excited with drink.

I placed my palms on the cool marble balcony and took a deep breath before breathing.

"You are easily startled," Éomer said. I nodded. "I remembered."

"I am sorry," I said, unsure of why I was apologizing. For being easily startled?

I looked up at him. I wanted so badly to touch him, taste his skin upon my lips again and blame it on the drink in the morning but I could not. Despite my inhibitions behind lowered, I was still in control enough to handle this situation. In addition...I respected Éomer, and I wanted so desperately for him to have continued respect for me. Being forward with him like I could be with men at a tavern or friends of my brothers would not be possible.

So I would have to rely on my wit and 'social skills' as Amorthos liked to say. I would flirt with him and see if he would flirt back.

But as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, he turned away. The spell which had been easily cast had been easily broken.

"We will be returning to Rohan soon," he said softly, gazing out to the west.

"Your people will be glad to see you return."

"Perhaps," he said.

"Théoden will lay with our honored dead until you return, I have heard?" I asked him, my hands still on the cool marble. Éomer nodded.

"Thank you," he said softly. I shrugged my shoulders – completely unladylike, but I had no other response.

"I do not make the decisions, yet I do not see why Théoden should not be honored in Minas Tirith. I hope to make the journey to Rohan to his final resting place."

Éomer's eyes widened, and he smiled.

"Then perhaps I can show you Rohan and it's people, and prove that we are not rude?" he asked slyly. I smiled.

"Yes. I would much appreciate that."

"So what will do you now, Lothíriel?" he asked. Hearing him speak my name made me feel so much more intimate with him than I was.

"I will stay in Minas Tirith to keep my cousin company until we go to Rohan," I said.

"Your cousin seeks to speak with me tomorrow – about my sister?" Éomer asked.

"Yes. They are in love. Or so they say," I remarked.

"You are skeptical?" Éomer asked, looking concerned.

"I am not saying they do not care for each other. From the standpoint of an observer, I think they both care greatly for each other, and my cousin intends to ask for your sister's hand in marriage. Not for political gain, mind you, but due to his own feelings."

"I see." Éomer looked away from me towards the mountains.

I loved my cousin dearly, and knew I had said something that would ruin his chances of happiness.

"I did not mean that...I do not know what I meant, it has been a very long week and-"

Éomer turned to face me. "I do not doubt your cousin's intentions, for if he is anything like you than his heart will lead him in the right direction."

"Thank you, Éomer," I said. "Please be kind when he does ask."

Éomer laughed. "I will. I shall take my leave of you, Lothíriel. I have enjoyed the company this evening immensely and I promise that when I next see you I will make sure to not let you dance with another the entire evening."

"Promises are only good if they are followed by actions," I said.

I held out my hand and he took it. He leaned down, his lips hovering over my knuckles.

"I promise that my actions will be as good as my words," he said, placing his lips against my knuckles. As his lips touched my skin I suppressed a shiver.

I thought the spell had been broken, but perhaps Eomer had been biding his time, waiting the moment when my defenses were down. I had been taught not to let your opponent know your weaknesses, and even though this wasn't war this was still a battle of conquest, in some small way. _Conquest_...I thought, once more desiring to kiss him as the lingering wine in my body met the heat from his touch to flow through my veins.

I turned my hand to touch his face. He rose to his full heigh, my hand still on the side of his face. As I went to remove it, he turned his head towards my palm and brushed his lips lightly against the inside of my hand.

"Goodnight, my lady," he said with a smile as he turned to leave.

"Goodnight, my lord," I replied. I watched him leave, my hand tingling from where his lips branded me.


	18. Fair Indeed

_Author's Notes: Oh, that all of this was caught between server updates and upgrades...Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, and I give you a Thanksgiving story - more poor confused Éomer and perhaps tomorrow some Lothiriel thrown in for good measure. This is more a transition story than anything else, meant to fill in the gaps between when the Rohirrim leave Minas Tirith for Edoras, and when they return for the funeral march of Theoden back to Rohan. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed because you make my inbox happy so enjoy - the next couple updates are all for you._

**Chapter 14/Transition 1: Fair Indeed **(Éomer POV)

"I received a letter from Faramir today," Éowyn said. She was seated at a table in the main hall, scanning the contents of a piece of parchment.

"What is this, now, one a week?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure he is not a wizard, for letters arriving so speedily from Gondor seem almost magical."

My sister had met the Prince of Ithilien in the Houses of Healing less than two months prior, and now she could not cease speaking of him – or corresponding with him. I had no qualms with it – he seemed to be a good man, and his family spoke highly of his many traits.

I just liked to tease my little sister.

"Perhaps – and he shall curse you for your words," Éowyn snapped back, a mischievous smile on her face.

"I spoke in jest!" I replied. I pretended to be offended, but truthfully I was thankful for that smile, and the man that put it there. It had been missing for too long.

"So, my brother, would you care to hear of the news in Minas Tirith? Or are you too busy with your kingly duties?"

"I suppose I can listen," I said as I sat down at the table. With a grin, Eowyn started to read from the letter.

"Faramir writes to say that the wedding of King Elessar and Arwen Undomiel was beautiful. He mentions that his cousin, the Lady Lothíriel, has stayed in Minas Tirith to assist the Queen. Since the Lady can speak the Queen's tongue, Faramir says that she will be more of a friend than a lady-in-waiting, especially since Minas Tirith can be harsh to new queens."

"I could see that," I said. My ears had pricked up upon hearing Lothíriel's name mentioned. In truth, I had thought about her often during the past several months.

I remembered her when I finally bid goodbye. Her hair bound back from her fair in a traditional style, her eyes speaking to me words I could not understand.

"I hope you do not forget me before we meet again, my lord," she had said as I bowed before her.

"My lady, I believe that will be impossible," I had replied.

"The lady came to visit me while I was healing," Éowyn said, breaking through my reverie. "I was terribly rude to her."

"I am sure your illness can be held as the cause of such rudeness," I said.

"It was more than that, actually. I felt embarrassed – a high and mighty woman of Gondor coming to see me! She would surely not have rushed into battle."

"You belittle yourself, Éowyn," I said quietly. "Lothíriel is different from you. Your bravery shows in your courage and skill as a warrior; her bravery shows in her compassion and concern as a member of a royal house."

"Where did you meet her?" Éowyn asked.

"In the Houses of Healing," I said. "She was there, though I do not think she was meant to be there. She bound my wounds. And it was I who asked that she visit you, for my sake. I was worried about you."

"You had much to be worried about." Éowyn paused. "Things have changed."

"I am aware of that. You have Faramir now – he is a good man."

"Indeed he is," Éowyn said, smiling. "And indeed I am happy. Very happy. And I wish to see you happy as well."

"My time for happiness will come - after I secure Rohan's future."

"Do you not seek happiness now?"

I grasped my sister's hands. "Your happiness is my happiness. You know how I am with tasks – one must be completely before the next can begin."

"But would not a queen aid you in rebuilding Rohan?" Éowyn asked. "Surely there is some girl that would make a good queen."

I paused. The only woman I could think of that would make an excellent queen was Lothíriel… "Let us not speak of this now, Éowyn. You are able to marry for love – I wish the same. I do not wish to marry merely to produce an heir." I rose. "I have urgent matters I must attend to."

I walked away in a huff, leaving both Éowyn and myself confused as to why I was upset.

Ever since we left the White City, the thought of Lothíriel had teased me relentlessly. The last night I spent in her company I had behaved in a manner I thought more appropriate for the company of barmaids than the company of ladies. The ale we drank at the celebration had made my blood run hot, and I had found myself watching Lothíriel as she danced with what seemed to be every male in her family as well as every male in Gondor. I had wanted to dance with her all night, and finally summoned up the courage to ask her towards the end of the evening.

It still seemed impossible to me – that I could find the courage to march to the Black Gate, or take on an army of orcs in battle, but I could not ask a princess to dance.

She had not rejected me. We danced and I felt my blood run hotter as I held her close to me, my hand on her waist and my face close to hers. Perhaps it was the drink, but she was more beautiful that I ever had imagined…or ever let myself imagine.

But the dance ended as quickly as it began with an outburst by partygoers near us. And as soon as that was over, I retreated into the shadows to clear my head.

I had not expected her to find me. I do not think she was looking for me - I thought she would stay at the celebration all night. When she approached me, her face was flushed with drink. She spoke to me more casually than she had before, flirting with me and teasing me, and I rose to the challenge. She teased me for leaving before we had a second dance, and I asked her to dance with me in the moonlight.

And then it happened.

I had never allowed myself to look at Lothíriel in the way a man does when he desires a women, partly because she deserved more respect than that, and partly because I was drawn first to her other features – her compassion, intelligence, and inner strength– to consider her beauty as more than a welcome addition to a whole package. But now I knew how much I desired her and how greatly I wanted to take her into my arms and claim her lips.

She seemed to respond to my inclination, but a loud noise disrupted us. And so, before parting, I kissed her hand.

I had never seen such an intense stare. As I left, my body humming, I felt both strong and yet crippled with doubt. I had acted out my intentions, but I had acted them out while spurred on by ale. In some ways, it felt as if I disrespected Lothíriel and I was exceedingly embarrassed by that.

But she did not seem to mind, for before leaving she once again brushed a kiss on my check, lingering a bit longer this time, though not long enough to be noticeable. Her eyes, too, had taken on a different look – instead of merely observing me, she once again appeared to be investigating me.

I couldn't seem to get those grey eyes out of my head.

"It's a woman, isn't it?

I turned see Elfhelm enter my study, his eyes thoughtfully observing me.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, moving away from the window and gesturing he should close the door behind him.

"Gazing into space in the middle of the day, becoming defensive quickly about the proposition of marriage…sometimes looking distracted…" Elfhelm said.

"None of these prove anything," I said. "You forget I have to learn how to run a kingdom. Perhaps I am just tired."

"No. To the casual observer, perhaps you defense is logical. But I have known you since you were a lad, Éomer. A woman haunts you." Elfhelm paused. "The only questions are who she might be and why you haven't swept her off her feet yet. And you can't lie to me, Éomer. I know there's a woman traipsing through your mind."

"More like running loose…" I said. "She is a worthy woman, but I am not sure I want to marry her, and she is definitely not going to marry me." I sat down behind my desk.

"Not marry you? What, have you not charmed her yet? You're a good man, Éomer, and what more you're King of Rohan. Isn't that what they teach little princesses and ladies to do? Marry kings and nobility? Or is she not nobility?"

"Oh, they might have told this princess to marry well-to-do men, but neither her nor her father will allow her to marry a man if she does not love him," I said.

"The Lady Lothíriel," Elfhelm said. I nodded, surprised.

"I had heard you spoke with her a few times. I did not think it was to that extent-"

"It wasn't. We spoke of our homes and families and our lives. But she...made an impression on me. But I fear I acted too forward to her one night, and I have not lived down the shame since."

"Did the lady say so?"

"No…in fact, she said nothing to imply I was too forward. My own conscience told me I was."

"Perhaps the lady cares something for you, Éomer?"

_Perhap_s…I sighed. "I do not know, Elfhelm. I know that I cannot get her out of my head, and that is all. I feel indecent, for she is a lady-"

"But you care for her. It happens, Éomer. It is natural. But do not worry – we will be in Minas Tirith soon."

"She will be coming to Edoras with us," I said. "Let us add more confusion to what already exists."

"Coming to Edoras, I see," Elfhelm said with a smile. Then you must wait a little more than a month to spend a fortnight with the woman you desire."

"I never said I desired her, Elfhelm. It is naught but a schoolboy's infatuation. She probably is flirtatious for political benefit – after all, we would not want to hurt the King of Rohan, since he acted love struck for a moment, and the alliance between Gondor and Rohan must be preserved-"

"How many women have you bedded, Éomer?" Elfhelm asked suddenly.

"You dare ask your king that question?" I snarled, angry.

"No, I ask my friend and I am a good ten years older than you. I am allowed to ask that question now you must answer it." Elfhelm's gaze drew level with mine, and I could see that he was unafraid of whatever insults I would throw at him – crown or no crown.

"Two. A night with each." I felt ashamed, thought I knew many men had done worse.

"And both before you were Third Marshall, correct?"

I nodded.

"How many women have you courted?"

"None."

"Then I say you know very little about women save for your sister."

"Perhaps," I said through grit teeth.

"Then perhaps I should just dispose of this letter elsewhere, then," Elfhelm said, holding up folded up parchment with a wax seal. "This is brought by the courier who brought Faramir's letter. It was addressed to me, and when I opened it I found a note imploring that it reaches the right person without too much fanfare."

He placed the letter on my desk, and turned to leave. "Perhaps she was not offended after all."

As soon as Elfhelm left I picked up the letter. My stomach felt strangely absent, perhaps from nervousness as well as surprise. Lothíriel had written me a letter? And sent it care of Elfhelm?

I tore the seal carefully, looking at the swan of Dol Amroth imprinted in the wax.

_My Lord Éomer,_

_I apologize for taking what I considered necessary means to deliver this letter to you. Were it not for growing up at court, I would have addressed it outright, but I fear that a new king would not wish any gossip about him and a lady from Belfalas to reach the ears of new advisors nor potential brides._

_In truth, I write because I have missed your conversation of late, and hope that you will at least indulge me in an occasional letter. I realize that I request something you might not have the time nor inclination to fulfill, but if by chance you do have the inclination to write me some lines, my gambit will then prove to be fruitful._

_My cousin shares with me fragments of his correspondence with Éowyn, and I am pleased to hear that the court seems to have accepted you as rightful heir most warmly. I am sure that King Elessar has told you very few challengers have risen to match his claim for the throne. I am thankful, for between a coronation, a wedding, and the establishment of a King on the throne after years of absence, it has been hectic at court. _

_For my part I am keeping myself busy reading about your land. Our library here in Minas Tirith is quite adequate, but a great deal of our works are written in Rohirric and we have no books adequate enough to aid in translation. I beseech you to share with me whatever works on your tongue you can manage to part with so that I might become more acquainted with your land. I would ask for a translator, but I fear the one I would desire is already busy with his job of being King to his people. _

_With sincere hope,_

_Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth_

I smiled, feeling my doubt fade away. "A fair lady indeed."


	19. Burst or Bloom

_Author's Note: Second Transition before the real stuff takes off. Just more or less a little bit of fluff to see us through. Blue Eyes At Night - I remembered reading that somewhere but I blanked when I wrote last chapter. You were one step ahead of me, however - I think you might see what I mean. Sappy, fluffly, insanely stupid but after all that pumpkin pie,we don't want you to get TOO wound up ;) - read and review please. I promiseour lovebirdswill reunite soon._

**Chapter 15 / Transition 2: Burst or Bloom** (Lothíriel POV)

"Does that one look alright?" I asked Pippin. He nodded to swatch of black fabric the vendor held out to us. Silver strands were woven into it, and shone in the bright morning light.

"That looks perfect. Frodo will be very grateful."

"Anything I can do to help. We'll take it," I told the street vendor as I removed several golden coins from my coin purse.

"Frodo, you said?" the man asked Pippin. "The ring bearer?"

I smiled, thinking that in some ways it was good that Frodo gained fame for his valor. On the other hand, I thought, fame was not always wanted...

"One in the same!" Pippin replied, proud to sing the merits of his kinsman. The vendor, who was a kindly old gentlemen, smiled.

"Then it is free of charge. May I ask what you are making the ring bearer?"

"Lothíriel is making him a new coat for him," Pippin said. "She already made me this one."

"I have a great deal of free time," I told the vendor, knowing he would think it madness that a lady made clothes. But it was the truth. Ever since the King married, I had spent a great deal of time reading and sewing in the company of the Queen. "Thank you very much. I will be sure to return should I make a coat for another hobbit."

We had come to the market so that I could make Frodo a new coat. The four little perian were staying until the party left for Rohan, and the coats they were given had been soiled or ripped as they patronized Minas Tirith's taverns every so often. Frodo's had received a large ale stain when Pippin had overturned a pint on the table, and the ale was too stubborn to come out. So I had taken it on myself first to make Pippin a new coat (his was burned after an accident with a candle) and now one for Frodo.

How they all survived their journeys I did not know.

The vendor bowed his head towards us. "Nan lû i agovaded vîn!" he called out.

"What did he say?" Pippin asked.

"He said 'Until we meet again,'" I told the inquisitive young hobbit.

"I want to learn your language."

I laughed. "Well, it is not my language and if you wish to learn it, perhaps you should ask the Queen."

"Perhaps…" said Pippin.

"Lothíriel!"

I turned to see who could possibly have spotted us. I recognized the man who called out. It was Kel.

"Kel," I said, smiling meekly at the approaching knight. Over the past few months I had spent a great deal of time with him…compared to the usual time I spent with him in Dol Amroth, which was very little if any time at all. His sister, who dwelt in Minas Tirith, lost her husband in the battle outside the city walls and had two young children. Kel had received leave from the Knights to attend his sister in her grief.

I respected him for that, but I could not help but wonder if the decision was made in part because I was to be in Minas Tirith for an indefinite amount of time. Kel always seemed to be where I was, and more out of duty to my family than anything else I had gone on rides with him, eaten with his family, and even invited them to dine with Faramir and myself. I kept telling myself that this was out of the kindness of my own heart, but I really knew that my score was mounting and soon Erchirion would be greatly in my depth for my treatment of his friend.

I had no interest in Kel compared to the unflagging interest he had in me. I did not even encourage that interest, remaining as distant as possible without seeming rude. It pained me to think I might be leading the man on, but I could not help it – I was trapped by obligation, abundance of free time, and the lack of a certain fair-haired ruler.

"You look splendid, Lothíriel," Kel said, bowing. "White is very much your color." A flush was on his cheeks, as the day was warm and threatening to grow warmer still, and he was dressed in dark Dol Amroth blue.

"Thank you very much, Kel," I replied. "How are you today?"

"Much better now that I have found you," Kel said. "Hello."

Pippin looked from Kel to me. "I'm going to wander more," he said. "I will see you later, Lothíriel!" And with that he left me with Kel. I cursed him and his entire extended family silently under my breath.

"I was returning to the Citadel. Would you care to escort me," I said in my most pleasant tone.

"Of course, my lady. You do me great honor."

I smiled and gave Kel my arm, which he took eagerly. On the walk up to the Citadel, he rattled on about a great many things, answering my inquiries about his sister (she was doing better, still in mourning though), his nephews (rambunctious as ever), and himself (glad to be helping the Citadel guard, but missing the ocean). I knew in my heart that he was a good man, and I could not help but feel guilty that I did not return the genuine affection that he seemed to have for me.

"Tell me, Lothíriel, do you miss the sea as well?"

"I do, but I know I shall see it before two fortnights pass," I said hopefully.

"Oh?" Kel asked.

"I am riding with King Théoden's escort to Edoras, and then heading home for a good period of time. I miss my house," I said, laughing. "I miss being around my family. Not that I do not love Faramir, but are a great many endearing things about Dol Amroth that call me home."

"I see," Kel said.

"Are you riding in the escort?" I asked. I was curious.

"No, I fear. I will remain in Minas Tirith for an uncertain period of time," Kel said. He sounded saddened, but I was relieved.

"I am sorry to hear that."

"May I correspond with you once you return to Dol Amroth?" Kel asked eagerly. We had reached the Court of the White Tree – or, rather, small white sapling.

"You may," I replied, knowing full well Erchirion would owe me greatly for this. Greatly.

"Lothíriel!"

I turned to see my cousin as he made his way across the court to where we stood.

"The Queen requests your presence. Good morning, Kel," Faramir said.

"Good morning, Lord Steward," Kel responded.

"I will take my leave of you now, Kel," I said, turning to him and extending my hand. Kel eagerly kissed it.

"I am sorry to see you leave, my lady, but hope to see you again soon."

I nodded, then turned to Faramir. "Shall you take me to the Queen?" I asked.

Faramir took my arm, and we headed off towards the Citadel, and the King's living quarters.

"Have you had any luck with the books you found in the library?" Faramir asked.

"None at all…I'm starting to believe they aren't written in Rohirric at all. A couple words here and there, which read like words I thought I heard riders speak but I know so little of Rohan that I fear I'll never figure this mystery out."

"Ah. So there are two possibilities, then. It could be a poorly done attempt at writing the language of Rohan down-"

"- or it could be not Rohirric at all."

"And no news from Edoras about the books?"

"No. Not a word. I wonder if the letter was received by Éomer at all. It has been nearly a fortnight and Éowyn has already replied."

Faramir sighed. "We tried our best."

When I had shown the books to him, it had been his idea to write to Éomer, because "He's the King of Rohan, Lothíriel. He should know if something exists – or at least know of someone who knows if something exists."

I had protested. "Newly crowned King of Rohan. It's probably hidden somewhere."

"More reason to look for it," Faramir had said. And so we sent the letter with Faramir's and addressed it to Elfhelm, due to my own foolish worries.

"We did." I sighed as well. "Perhaps I was too forward."

"I thought the letter was quite persuasive."

I stopped. "I added an extra line."

Faramir turned to look at me. "Oh?"

I suddenly felt unsure of myself. "Yes."

"And what did this extra line contain?" Faramir's eyebrows were raised.

_If I jeopardize his marriage to Éowyn…_I took a deep breath and walked past him. "Something to the effect of the translator I would request would be him," I said over my shoulder.

I walked up the stairs and the guards opened the doors to the main hall. It was empty and cool, much cooler than outside. I heard Faramir charge up the stairs behind me.

"You wrote what?" he asked, his voice echoing off the marble pillars and walls. He sounded angry.

"I was flirtatious and told him that if I could request a translator, I would, but the one I wanted was rather busy being King of Rohan at the moment," I said. I turned to face Faramir, trying to read his expression.

Faramir did not say anything for a moment, and then met my eyes again.

"Why are you flirting with Éomer?" he asked calmly.

"Because he started to flirt with me and I wanted to discern his intentions exactly?" I replied. The nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach was slowly creeping up to my neck. Perhaps I had made a mistake…

"So Éomer's been showing attention to you?" Faramir asked.

"Some. Not very much. I am in the process of discerning his inten-"

Faramir laughed. "Lothíriel, you are ridiculously serious at the most inopportune times. Every other girl would be flattered a king showed her attention. You must make it a scholarly inquiry."

"There is nothing scholarly in this," I told Faramir brusquely. "In fact, it's quite the opposite. I'm merely playing with words and I do not think it's working." I turned to walk away from him but he caught my arm.

"So if you are interested in Éomer-"

"I am not – not exactly, at least-"

"Then why are you leading me to believe you are favoring Kel?"

"He is Erchirion's best friend. I cannot disregard him so quickly. But I do not foresee a potential marriage, Faramir. I could not marry a man like him."

"I see nothing offensive with Kel," Faramir said as we started to walk again. "He is an honorable man."

"I do not deny that-"

"Then what do you find wrong?"

"Many things. First, he is too eager," I replied. "Second, he does not seek to know me more than superficially. I wonder if he even considers my inner working," I speculated aloud.

"I see. Are there more?"

Faramir and I walked slowly down the dark corridor to the royal chambers.

"I'm not ready for marriage yet. I have never been in love, so marriage seems to foreign and unpleasant to me," I said honestly. "Everyone who is in love seems to think everyone else should be in love. It's not that simple."

Faramir placed a hand on my arm and turned me towards him. "I know it is not, and forgive me if I have been rude. I only wish to see you happy, Lote."

I thought of Éomer, who had filled my private musings for the past several months. Letters from Edoras had filtered in slowly as trade routes started again, and Éowyn found time to write Faramir. Most every letter contained something about Éomer's challenges as King of the Mark, and every letter that Faramir read to me endeared the young king – and his sister – to me more. I took comfort in knowing that I would see Éomer again, and he had promised me a dance. Romantic notions, but notions I would cling to, nonetheless.

"I am happy, as happy as I can be," I told my cousin.

Faramir considered me for a moment, not speaking a word.

"The Queen seeks you," he said. He leaned forward and kissed my check. "I shall see you at supper."

I nodded, and walked through the double doors towards the Queen's chambers.

Arwen Undomiel had become Queen of Gondor only a few weeks ago, but already the royal city felt uplifted by the decidedly feminine presence. Shortly after the War had ended, King Elessar had asked me to aid his new wife in settling in once she arrived.

I became the Queen's lady once she arrived in Minas Tirith. At first, the Undomiel had intimidated me. She seemed frightened for a woman who had seen many wars and battles and peoples. She clung to her father and Elessar as best she could, and had even frightened me by her constant pacing and uneasiness. It had taken all the control I could manage to sit calmly and embroider in her presence.

Once the wedding was over, however, her initial nerves seemed to vanish and she became much more outgoing. Indeed, it seemed the King was right – we would be good companions.

"Na vendui," Arwen said as I entered the room. She was seated on a chair, reading a book. She looked restless.

"Nin goheno - I was walking with Kel," I said. I had a feeling this would begin another rant on the virtues of boys who admire me.

"May I ask why you humor Kel, allow him to flatter you when you do not intend to accept any proposal from him at all?"

I sat down opposite her, my hands in my lap. Arwen had heard me complain about Kel several times, never in great detail, and always brought up the same point Faramir did: Kel admired me greatly. I could do worse.

"Perhaps, because I believe there is a better man for me?" I said. "Do not think that I hate Kel – I don't. I just do not believe that I am truly myself around Kel. I want to marry a man who accepts me as I am – who loves me because of who I am, not because of what title I bear, or because of my outward appearance. I want to feel free."

Arwen looked at me for a long time, until I no longer could bear the scrutiny and looked away.

"You believe you have found this man?"

"No…" I said, though Éomer's face appeared before my eyes. "At least, I do not know yet. Only time will tell."

Arwen looked at me slyly, as if she tried to read my thoughts. "I see."

There was a knock on the door and Arwen rose. "Enter!" she called.

The doors were opened by two guardsmen, and Faramir walked in. He looked excited.

"Ladies," he said, bowing to both me and the Queen. "I have received something from King Éomer of Rohan for the Lady Lothíriel. It is in your quarters, Lothíriel."

"He responded to the letter?" I asked. Faramir nodded excitedly, and I rose.

"I must- come!" I said, taking Arwen's hand as the three of us hurried to Faramir's quarters in the old residence of the Stewards. Arwen laughed and I could not help but get caught up in how silly we must seem.

Finally, we reached my quarters. In the sitting room there was a young man, and a chest.

"My lady," the man said. "The King of Rohan instructed me to give you this." He handed me a letter.

"Open it," Arwen said.

I took the letter up with shaky hands, my head reeling from the volumes given to me. I opened it, breaking the seal and walking towards the window and better light. I leaned against the pane as I scanned its contents.

_Lady Lothíriel,_

_Your letter was received a while ago, but business in Rohan has kept me from replying. I hope that this letter finds you well._

_I, too, have missed our conversations, and I am glad that we will be returning to Minas Tirith soon so that I may enjoy the pleasure of your company once again. _

_I fear, however, Imust inform you that Roharric is merely a spoken tongue. I do not know what volumes you have in your libraries, but I have sent a scholar – a man who is trying to write down our language – to help you with your studies. I think you will find, however, that the people of Rohan favor actions to written words._

_I hope that you find the answers to your questions but if you do not, I hope I will be able to answer them when we return to the White City._

_Sincerely, _

_Éomer, King of Rohan_

"Are these the volumes I am to look at, my lady?" the scholar asked. He had found the table where the frustrating volumes in question were open and piled atop each other.

"Yes," I said. I handed the letter to Faramir as I walked over to join the scholar at the table. Arwen by now had also wandered over, and scanned the texts.

"What have you been attempting?" she asked as she turned yellowed pages.

"The archivist in the library said that these texts were about the history of Rohan," I said. I watched the scholar as he scanned a book quickly, picked up another and scanned that as well. "But I do not think he knew they were in Rohirric." I chose my words carefully, waiting for a response from the scholar.

"I can tell you – without a doubt – that these books are not in Rohirric," the scholar said, glancing up from the books. "I'm attempting to compile the language myself – an impossible task, it seems - and these books could not possibly be in Rohirric."

"Perhaps someone tried to write down what they heard?" I asked.

"Even phonetically, it does not match up - at least on first inspection."

"So what language is this written in?" I asked. The scholar sighed and shook his head.

"I don't know –the language seems to vary book to book. Perhaps that is what is giving you trouble."

"I believe this was spoken by a people who left Rohan years ago and traveled South," Arwen said. "It looks familiar."

"How long ago?" the scholar asked.

"A millennia, if not more," Arwen replied. The scholar looked surprised. Arwen turned to me. "If you were seeking help, you could have asked Elessar. He stayed in Rohan for months years ago."

I frowned. I had completely forgone any help in order to send that letter to Éomer…

"She could have," Faramir said, handing the letter back to me and suppressing a grin, "if she had been a little less eager to ask the King for help."

I looked away, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"If only," I said quietly.

"Scholary inquiry indeed," Faramir remarked.

Vocab Words:

Nan lû i agovaded vîn Until we meet again.

Nin goheno Forgive Me

Na vendui! At last!


	20. Reunion

_Author's Note: Long time no update! I apologize - finals and papers seemed to steal my time, and this chapter took forever for me to write. But it's super-long so everyone should appreciate it! Thank you to my fantastic brand new beta reader - I never had one before and I'm so grateful I do now! So without further ado, enjoy the story and please review! _

**Chapter 16: Reunion** (Éomer POV)

We made excellent time to Minas Tirith. Elfhelm jokingly said it was my desire to see the Princess of Dol Amroth that drove us forward, and I laughed. But secretly, I did wonder if that was it. And I rebuked myself, for this was a time of respect for my uncle, not for my own pleasure.

As we entered the city, flowers were thrown before us. Banners hung from rebuilt houses, and crowds celebrated our return. My heart swelled to think that Gondor thought so highly of us. Looking at the young babies and children in the mothers' arms, I felt as if perhaps the sacrifices of my men had saved the soldiers of tomorrow. No, I thought – not soldiers. If we kept the peace, there would be no war.

The Court of the Fountain was as beautiful as it was when I last left, save a small sapling replaced the withered white tree. The sapling had but a few flowers and leaves, yet I knew that years from now it would be great.

I saw in the distance that a group had gathered to meet our party. Gandalf and the hobbits, as well as Aragorn and his queen, Faramir and Lothíriel. My breath caught as I made out Lothíriel's form from far away, and as I drew closer I was surprised to see the slight similarity between Aragorn's bride and Lothíriel. Both were the same height and had long hair and light eyes, but Lothíriel's face was rosier, her hair lighter, and in truth I thought her more beautiful than Aragorn's bride.

"My friend," Aragorn said, stepping out to embrace me. I was still surprised to see him with a crown on and without his leather jerkin and many knives. I expected he would feel the same were I not wearing my armor.

"It is good to see you again," I said. Aragorn looked behind him, and the Evenstar drew near. I had heard of her from Faramir's letters to Éowyn, which described her in terms that would not lead my sister to believe him enamored. His description did not do the Elf justice. Her skin was pale and flawless, her eyes seemed to read into my soul, and for a man who grew up around maidens whose hair was the color of straw, I found myself liking the dark tresses of the ladies of the East.

"Éomer, this is Arwen, my wife," Aragorn said. Pride and love were evident in both his eyes and his voice, and I knew that I desired that too, one day.

"It is good to meet you," Arwen said, curtsying to me. I bowed.

"It is good to finally meet you as well," I said. "I have heard much about you."

"Though you have not heard nearly as many great things about me compared to what I have heard about you," she said smiling.

"Perhaps not," I replied, smiling though a little embarrassed.

Soon the others approached. Faramir was the first, looking nervous.

"My Lord Faramir," I said, taking the initiative and bowing. My sister's betrothed bowed as well. "I am sorry that Éowyn is not here. Someone needed to remain at Edoras."

"I am not surprised," Faramir said. He sounded only slightly disappointed. "She is well?"

"Very," I replied. "She begged me to deliver this to you." I held out a letter, which Faramir took happily.

And then I turned my attention to Lothíriel.

She stood before me, dressed in a pale blue gown with her hair pulled back in its usual elaborate manner, pearls threaded through the dark locks. She was beautiful, and nervously I bowed.

"Lady Lothíriel, it is good to see you again," I said. Lothíriel smiled, prompting me to suppress a foolish grin. I was King of Rohan, not some stable boy; I had to maintain some degree of decorum.

"And you as well, my lord."

"I had not heard any word from you nor from the scholar I sent. Did he help you at all?" I asked. From beside us, Faramir coughed and Lothíriel colored slightly.

"You were right, it seems," Lothíriel said. She did not meet my eyes. "It was not written in Rohirric. My scholarly inquiry was a failure."

Faramir stifled a laugh and Lothíriel's frown deepened, which caused me to frown as well. Luckily, the hobbits chose that time to reacquaint themselves, causing me to turn away from Lothíriel and towards my esquire of Rohan, Merriadoc, who was firmly pledging his allegiance to me while his cousin, Pippin, rolled his eyes in the background.

The comic scene seemed to amuse both Gandalf and Aragorn, for Aragorn soon suggested we head into the Citadel. Elfhelm and a company of Riders accompanied me as I followed Aragorn inside. I noticed, however, that Lothíriel had held Faramir back. As I looked over my shoulder, I noticed some terse words exchanged between the two before Faramir said something to brighten Lothíriel's mood. She laughed and took his arm, and followed us into the Citadel.

* * *

"You act like a young boy." 

I raised my eyes to meet Elfhelm. The Marshal stood before me with an amused look on his face. I knew what – or more specifically who – he was referring to. I did not have a good enough defense, so I gave in.

"I cannot help it. I'm nervous around her but I am also excited-"

Elfhelm shook his head and was about to say something when there was a knock on the door, and he went to open it.

"I am sorry to bother you, Marshal Elfhelm," I heard Lothíriel's voice say, "but I was wondering if I might speak with your King for a moment." At her first words I had trouble catching my breath.

"I will see if he is busy, my lady," Elfhelm said. He returned to my bedroom and gestured to me.

"Would you be too busy to see the Lady Lothíriel?" he asked, teasing me.

"I will see her in the sitting room," I said to Elfhelm. Turning away, I felt my pulse race. _Why had she come to see me? Why did I even care?_

Once I collected myself, I started towards the sitting room. Lothíriel was standing at the window, looking out at the city below. With her arms across her chest, she leaned against the wall and I could tell that she was a bit nervous as well. Her posture was not as relaxed as it should be in such a pose. Her eyes met mine, and she moved slowly to straighten herself more.

"My lady," I said, bowing before her. She curtsyed, and I noticed her face had colored slightly.

"Will you not sit?" I asked politely. Lothíriel nodded and walked towards the chair I offered her. Demurely, she sat down and folded her hands on her lap. I sat opposite her, my entire body as tense as a bowstring.

"May I ask what occasion brings you here?" I asked. Lothíriel took a deep breath.

"I am here to thank you for your kindness in sending a scholar to aid us. I should have paid more attention and asked King Elessar for his advice, but instead my 'scholarly inquiry', as my cousin calls it, went awry."

I saw in her face embarrassment over something I wasn't sure I understood – her lack of knowledge or foresight, or something else.

"I assume even the greatest scholars have misstepped before," I told her. Lothíriel shrugged her slender shoulders and took a breath.

"Of course," she said, her eyes meeting mine. "The process of learning calls for trial and error. I am more embarrassed that it was my eagerness to write to you that put me in the position of being naïve than anything else."

There. Grey eyes staring intently at me, trying to read me as best they could. I masked my expression of surprise, since rarely had women been so forward around me who were not tavern wenches or, in recent days, women who wanted the esteem of being the king's mistress. But there was nothing in Lothíriel's tone that put her in either of the two categories; Lothíriel was forward with me because that was her nature. Part of it was an inquiry, testing to see what would merit a reaction. The other part was who she was – unafraid to meet my eyes because I had shown my hand when I bent to kiss her two months ago.

And these things made me admire her more.

"I enjoyed receiving your letter," I said. "I have always enjoyed you." Like any good warrior, I was tempted to test the boundaries of my opponent's defenses. But this was not war; it was something entirely different.

Lothíriel colored slightly, but her eyes did not leave mine. "I am grateful you think so highly of me," she said. "I hope your journey here was not hard."

"We made excellent time," I told her. "We did not expect to arrive before noon."

"Elessar did not expect you either, though the messenger you sent ahead said as much," Lothíriel remarked. "That is why the noon meal was a bit hasty."

"I can assure you that it was enough for men who had been eating dried meat," I said. "The court at Minas Tirith seems to have grown. I noticed that when I entered today."

"It has grown, indeed, now that the queen has arrived," Lothíriel said. I could see some annoyance in her features. "I tolerate the women of Minas Tirith, but I find too many of them trite and false to my face. It gets old fast."

"I see." I paused. "I am thankful the court at Edoras is not bad. Yet."

"Once you find yourself a queen, my lord, things will change." She paused, looking uncomfortable.

I did not know how to respond, so I moved past the topic. "Have you any plans for this afternoon?" I asked.

Lothíriel smiled. "None."

"Would you care to show me these documents my scholar is trapped under?"

Lothíriel's eyes lit up. "You wish to see them?" she said eagerly, seeming to be surprised by my answer.

In the other room I heard Elfhelm cough, clearly surprised as well. I had never shown much interest in book-learning, but something about Lothíriel's own eagerness – and an excuse to spend time with her – made me willing to venture into a musty library.

"Of course – I want to make sure that Gléowine is doing his job correctly," I said with a smile. "So will you show me the documents?"

With a smile on her face that seemed to blot out the sun, Lothíriel rose. "Of course, Éomer King, I would be more than willing to."

"You should know by now it's just Éomer," I said softly. Lothíriel's eyes looked away.

"I know," she said softly, apologetically. For a moment, her uncertainty was clearly obvious on her face. Then she turned and walked towards the door, glancing over her shoulder to see if I would follow her.

"Meet me at the Court of the Fountain in a few moments?" she asked. I nodded, and she left.

"You are crazy," Elfhelm said from the other room. "Crazy."

"About her, yes," I said, smiling.

* * *

It wasn't until I had returned and was preparing for the feast to be held in my honor that Elfhelm inquired about my afternoon. 

"An entire afternoon spent buried under musty documents," Elfhelm said. "You must really care for this girl."

I grinned as I looked at my old friend, who wandered the room anxiously.

"I did not mind it at all," I said, my smile growing wider.

Lothíriel had taken me to Minas Tirith's great library, which was on the fourth or fifth level of the city – I couldn't remember. I had been too busy paying attention to the excited princess, who would go on and on then catch herself and, blushing, apologize for getting carried away.

"No," I would say, "go on." I enjoyed her enthusiasm, and was even more impressed by her knowledge of Rohan.

"Gléowine does not mind sharing his knowledge," she would whisper conspiratorially as we sat, side by side, and paged through interesting documents from a tribe of people living near Halifirien a long time before.

"We're not quite sure when they left," Lothíriel explained as we looked at a map. "We think it's after the battle where Elendil was killed –"

"Which would put it either in the last decade of the Second Age, or first of the Third Age," Gléowine said.

Lothíriel nodded, and as she turned to show me something on a map, I noticed the lovelorn look that Edoras' court-poet-turned-scholar had when he gazed at her. The man was not but a few years younger than me, and I could see why he was attracted to the princess: inquisitive grey eyes, exceedingly fair face, and overly red lips.

I shook my head to try to clear my mind and focus on the task at hand but sitting next to her made it difficult. Indeed, her fingers would occasionally - I might dare to say deliberately - brush mine as we handled a book, and her face would often be inches from mine as we scanned the same pages. For my part, my leg would often brush against hers, only to feel her press hers back and we would stay like that for a time until she would get up to get a new volume, or retrieve one from across the table. All the while my body burned, heat radiating from her closeness and her touch.

Her enthusiasm and intelligence fascinated me. She seemed to deeply be interested in investigation, and I liked having her explain her 'scholarly inquiries', as she jokingly called them.

"I am not much of a scholar, my lady," I said as we exited the library. "Books were not plentiful growing up, and we were taught that swords would protect us more than novels."

"There are other reasons why I like you, my lord," she promptly responded. "Nevertheless, let us hope that perhaps treaties will replace wars in this new age."

I found myself thinking the same thing.

"She's wonderful," I said to Elfhelm.

He laughed and shook his head. "It brightens my heart to see you so happy, my friend. She is a good woman."

I nodded, guilt creeping into the pit of my stomach. "But I should be honoring my uncle."

"I think your uncle would like seeing you so happy – I would even wager to say that he would like the princess," Elfhelm said. "Do not think I would speak ill of his memory, but –"

"I know," I said quietly. "I think he would like seeing both Éowyn and I happy."

There was a knock at the door, and Elfhelm turned towards it. "Your royal guard is here to escort you," he said, bowing.

I took a deep breath. I was not much for formal ceremonies and preferred rowdy gatherings where I was not the center of attention to this event. But it was necessary. I would meet the elves tonight, from Rivendell as well as the Lady of Lothlorien. I would have toasts in my honor.

But most importantly, I would dance with Lothíriel.

The hall was larger than I had imagined. Carved out of the same white rock that the Citadel and the entire city seemed to be made from, the walls reflected the light of candles strewn about the room.

A great many people were seated, most notably three elves in addition to Legolas, seated at the dais. One had dark hair and hard, all-seeing eyes. He sat near Arwen, and I took him to be her father, Lord Elrond. The other two I assumed to be Celeborn and Galadriel of Lothlorien. I remembered Gimli's earlier comments about the beauty of Galadriel and, glancing at Arwen, decided I liked night much better than day.

I noticed Lothíriel already on the dais, and seated between Pippin and Faramir. She wore silver, her hair partly up with some curls allowed to escape. She stood as did the rest of the hall as we entered. I bowed to Aragorn, and ascended the dais to my seat, between Frodo and Aragorn.

Aragorn spoke words of praise, both for me and my uncle. Soon the feast was brought out, and then the dancing began.

I stood and walked over to Lothíriel's chair. She turned from her conversation with Pippin, and smiled.

"I believe I have a promise to a fair lady about a dance," I said, smiling. Lothíriel regarded me with her large eyes.

"Of course, my lord," she said. She took my hand, and allowed me to lead her down to the floor where elves and people of the City danced.

"Perhaps the people of Rohan are not as rude as they might seem…" she said as we began dancing.

"Of course we are not. In fact, we are quite considerate," I told her. She laughed and her grey eyes met mine and they sparkled. I felt nervous suddenly, unsure of what to do. Should I complement her beauty? Should I make a flirtatious comment? Should I remain quiet?

"I believe I am dancing with the loveliest lady in the room," I said. I had chosen to compliment her, thinking perhaps honesty would work best in this situation.

"I fear you are mistaken, Éomer," she said softly. "The queen is far the greater beauty than I am."

"Indeed the Queen is lovely, but not nearly so much as my lady-partner. I will always consider you first," I said boldly.

"You are too kind, Éomer," Lothíriel said with a blush. I smiled and drew her a bit closer as we danced. She did not pull back, and I regarded the faint color on her cheeks as it faded. She could certainly be flirtatious, but blushed at the merest compliment from me. Interesting.

"You are too kind to humour me so," I responded.

"How so?" Lothíriel asked.

"By allowing me to dance with you. I can see the many men who are jealous that I should dance with you first."

"None of them hold my favor as well as you," she said. The expression on her face changed from that of a shy maiden to the more courageous one I had grown to admire. Nay, I admired both Lothíriels. But this expression seemed to speak volumes, and before I could read it the dance ended. I bowed, and she curtsyed, and Faramir took my place as her partner.

Throughout the rest of the night, I found myself engaged in conversation with Aragorn and Lord Elrond about my uncle, Rohan, the battles we fought, and other things. I would steal glances at Lothíriel, and I watched as she danced with other men, tall soldiers of Gondor with dark hair and elves who moved as gracefully as she did. I noticed that several of the Swan Knights seemed to favor her, but no more than the man who was friends with Amrothos – the man Imrhail said desired Lothíriel's hand. Kel.

His eyes roamed across the dance floor, searching for Lothíriel. I watched as he found her, and his expression changed. He seemed self-assured as he approached her, and did not appear to notice her calm expression as she took his hand to dance. Something about watching them made me uneasy, and I looked away.

As the next dance started up, I excused myself from my company and made my way towards the couple. I was determined to knock the smug smile off the man's face, as well as fulfill my promise to Lothíriel of a second dance.

It made me happy to see her face light up as I approached, though I worried if it was not merely because I was saving her from dancing with Kel. My mind wandered on this course for some time before a slight nudge of fingers against my side brought me back to the present.

"My lady?" I asked, looking down at her troubled face.

"You're distracted. What is on your mind?"

"Nothing," I replied. Lothíriel frowned.

"You do not seem as eager to dance with me as you did before," Lothíriel said softly. "I was wondering if you were merely dancing with me to save me from Kel."

"No," I said quickly. "I…have heard of Kel, and his intentions towards you. From your father. I just wanted to dance with you."

Lothíriel sighed. "Kel. A man I cannot turn away because he is a dear friend of my brother Erchirion." She sighed again.

"I feared you were only happy to dance with me because you did not want to dance with Kel," I said softly. Lothíriel shook her head as the dance ended. We stopped dancing, and Lothíriel drew close to me.

"No. Never," she whispered in my ear. "Do not think I would ever choose you as an excuse to escape. I do not need a reason to choose you."

With that she was gone again, a blur of silver skirts that I did not see again while I remained in the hall. I returned to the table, to my discussions with Elrond and Aragorn, feeling slightly better but even more confused by the situation.

Exiting the hall, I saw a glimmer of silver in the distance. There were two people across the court, standing near the beginning of the outcropping of rock. In the moonlight I could clearly see one was Lothíriel, and for a few moments I worried the other was Kel before realizing that it was merely Faramir.

I approached slowly. As I did, I stopped halfway. They spoke quietly and intensely, and I had no good reason to disturb their conversation. But Faramir recognized me, and kissing Lothíriel's cheek, took his leave. He walked up the steps towards me.

"Good evening, Éomer King," he said, bowing. I was struck with the ridiculousness of the situation.

"There is no need for that, Faramir, if we are one day to be brothers," I told him. For indeed, I did not think that I could allow my sister's future husband to address me so formally.

I glanced towards Lothíriel, who stood against the wall, silhouetted in the moonlight.

"Do you seek my cousin?" Faramir asked. I nodded.

"For counsel," I said. It was a half-truth. "She has a keen mind for court affairs."

"By all means, I shall not keep you. Perhaps you two would be better off if you adjoined to the small library in the Steward's quarters. It is quieter there, and we have maps." He seemed to realize how silly his words sounded around the same time I realized he was a bit inebriated, but I was more embarrassed than amused. I nodded and walked towards Lothíriel, wondering if perhaps Faramir was Lothíriel's confidant as much as Elfhelm was mine.

I could certainly hope.

"Are we supposed to take turns at this?" I asked as I approached her.

Lothíriel laughed. "Perhaps. Or perhaps moonlight draws both of us together."

"I certainly don't mind it," I said, suddenly nervous. I had waited months to be here, now…why did I feel so scared?

"You are a very fine dancer," she said. "And your actions are true to your words."

"Thank you," I said.

"But you look tired." Lothíriel reached up and brushed a lock of hair away from my face. It was an intimate gesture, and one I did not take lightly. The mere touch of her fingers on my skin made me feel as if I had stepped too close to a raging fire. Her presence was distracting yet so welcome.

"I am. I don't think I have slept the whole night since…before Helm's Deep. I wake up often in a cold sweat, worrying about what I need to do."

"Because you are now king?"

"Well…yes. I always feel like I have so many things to do that I wake up panicked I have forgotten one."

"It is often said that a different set of eyes can find what one loses. Perhaps a different pair of ears can listen to your problems and give the best aid they can?"

"You would not feel burdened if I discussed my problems with you?" I asked. "Do you not seek to return to the celebration?"

"Why would I wish to return when the only person whose company I desire is out here?" Lothíriel asked, smiling. "No, I offered to listen. May I sit next to you?"

We sat down on the stone steps. Our shoulders touching, I began to pour my problems out before her like marbles from a jar; once one had escaped, the rest seemed to tumble out as well. Lothíriel nodded and offered me her advice. She also asked me questions – about my coronation ceremony, the temperament of my advisors, the extent of my role as marshal. I did not think the answers pertinent, but I answered while storing questions of my own to ask her in the future: about her childhood, how she was keeping busy in Minas Tirith, about her favorite food. I did not think there was enough I could know about her.

I realized that even though I had not kissed her, nor had I whispered romantic words in her ear, I still felt the slow hum that occurred when near Lothíriel. Something about this situation – sitting on a bench and discussing my kingdom's problems – felt both romantic and right, in strange ways.

As the night wore on her hand found its way into mine, fingers weaving between fingers. The earlier intensity was replaced with a dull ache, as I realized I wanted so badly to hold her and to kiss her, to close my tired eyes and wake breathing in the scent of her hair.

Instead, I tightened my grip on her hand. I never wanted to let her go.

* * *

"So what happened?" Elfhelm asked me the next morning. I had just woken up and was in the process of dressing when he burst into my room. 

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"You did not kiss her?"

"No."

"So what did you do? You were gone two hours by my count, and I made sure that you could be gone that long…" Elfhelm said. "I even made sure guards dissuaded those who drew near you two. And you did not kiss her?"

"Two hours well spent," I told my friend. "We talked.

"Talked?"

"Yes. Talked. She gave me a very good idea about what to do with those raiders on our Northern borders…"

"So you spent two hours talking with the Lady Lothíriel, whom you had spent all afternoon with as well."

"Yes." I eyed Elfhelm warily. "What are you getting at, my friend?"

Elfhelm laughed. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just that you are indeed smitten with the lady, and not because of her beauty. But I'm sure you would have told me that all along."

"Perhaps."

"There is nothing wrong with that," Elfhelm said. "She is intelligent and lovely and I know that she cares deeply for you." He paused. "Might as well go for it, man."

"Might as well," I said.

"When will you begin the courtship?"

I paused. A courtship now would certainly offset my sister's impending betrothal, which I would not do; Éowyn would have all of Edoras, if not all of Rohan, focused on her wedding. And they would not focus on her nuptials if their king was courting a princess from Gondor.

Everything seemed ten times more difficult now that I was king. Had I been Third Marshal, I could have courted Lothíriel with less uproar. And I did not think she would turn me away, for she did not seem to care at all about my station in life. That much I was sure of. Fairly sure of, at least.

So I would not do anything to distract from Éowyn's happiness. But what of Lothíriel?

Her father had told me she was picky, and it seemed that any man who made outright moves towards her earned her scorn. And it was Lothíriel who encouraged my actions, who seemed to spur them on in the first place. She was the hunter, and I was the prey. Yet her moments of shyness, when she would blush when I spoke…she was hunting me but not gauging my reactions well enough. Two could play this game.

"I do not think there can be a courtship," I told Elfhelm. Upon seeing his horrified face, I quickly added "At least, not now. Not with Éowyn's betrothal. And besides, I'll have to let Lothíriel set the terms of this game. I have a feeling she is like a skittish colt - and I will try my best not to have her bolt from me. She wishes to be the hunter, and I will allow her that much."

"I don't understand," Elfhelm said, eyebrows raised.

"That's all right, I don't think I do either," I said. "All I know is that I'm going to allow Lothíriel to dictate how she wants to go about this, and I'll figure out the rest."

"Women," Elfhelm said, laughing. "They really do drive men crazy."


	21. But Not Tonight

_Author's Note: Woooo update_._ Now that my hardest semester of college is over, I'm looking to actually updating this baby regularly. Thank you, as always, to my reviewers and my beta. Reviews are always welcome, because they make me keep writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

**Chapter 17: But Not Tonight** _(Lothíriel POV)_

Most of the time, I did not mind traveling. As a young child I hated being cooped up in our palace, and so I relished every chance I had to visit the beaches and coves of Dol Amroth's coastline. I especially enjoyed traveling to Minas Tirith to visit my family. I liked being able to ride my horse for hours on end, I enjoyed the novelties of camp life, and I even enjoyed sleeping in a tent.

But this was not like any other journey I had gone on. I had never made a funeral trip before. A great caravan of people had left Minas Tirith, traveling slowly westward towards Rohan, in the final journey of King Théoden of Rohan.

I played with Duthanhol's reins. We were one day from Minas Tirith, and despite the slow pace and sad purpose of our trip, my spirits felt much brightened. Minas Tirith with a king was different from Minas Tirith with a steward, and I found it more comforting…but more stifling as well. My relief at being out of the White City was tempered, however, with uneasiness. Glancing at the figure but a few riders in front, I knew I could pinpoint the source of my uneasiness.

Éomer, object of a good deal of my attention and the only man who could make me burn with desire and cool with nervousness within minutes. He rode tall and proud in his saddle, wearing the title of King of Rohan easily on his broad shoulders.

Eomer's behavior the last few days had been erratic. He would act friendly yet aloof, stealing occasional glances at me but not doing anything. It would not be until I said something, usually something flirtatious and deserving of a response, then would he act. After that, he would take the initiative but then shrink back.

This was exactly like a warrior, I thought. Circling an opponent, testing their defenses. He must have already realized that, while I had no problem being coy to _his_ face, I could not keep the nervous blush from _my_ face when he spoke.

Éomer was not the type of man to mince words, or speak falsely. And that made me all the more excited as well as all the more nervous.

My thoughts towards Éomer had changed from simple romantic notions to much more complex ones. He had wanted to kiss me, and since then I wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and fondly remembered how I felt in his arms. Sensual, lustful thoughts mixed with my own genuinely friendly thoughts and seemed to explode in my head. I still remembered his forwardness, the touch of his lips against my knuckles and against my palm.

But it was more than just pure lustful desire and attraction. I had never felt as happy as I felt around him. He cared about me – that much was obvious. I thought he even cared enough about me to respond to my coy, flirtatious words so as not to hurt my feelings. But this circling, this almost battle-like behavior had me wondering if he was not just humouring me.

I did not know how I would find out if he really did care about me, and if it had not been only wine that inspired him to want to kiss me that night. All my thoughts had been focused on Éomer the man, not Éomer the king. I was always surprised when he said or did something affectionate towards me, since it was usually in private. But in public, we both seemed to take on our natural roles; he was the new King of Rohan, I was a member of Gondor's royalty. Our manners were polite and courtly, and I withheld outward affection as much as he did. And it was difficult to want to refer to him casually, to want hear him joke with me or to feel his hand touching mine, when it could not happen.

I was such a fool to even allow my notions to go farther than that one night. But something spurred me on, something deep inside drew me to him, and I knew that he did not have to return any words or actions. He could have any woman he wanted.

And the way he was acting, I almost thought he wanted me.

It was now more than ever I wished I had a mother, or a sister, or some female I could turn to. Growing up in a household of men taught me to be bold, and made me understand how they could go out drinking to excess, or why they valued strength of body over strength of mind. But now I just needed guidance from a lady who had once been in a position similar to mine, who could at least relate the feelings that threatened to drive me crazy.

"You seem deep in thought," I heard a voice say. I turned to see that my brother Erchirion had ridden up next to me.

Our assembled procession placed Éomer and King Elessar in front, with my father, Arwen, Faramir, and a host of soldiers from Dol Amroth, Rohan, and Gondor between them and the cart bearing the casket. We rode behind Father but in front of the casket. Behind us rode emissaries from the courts, ladies in waiting and gentlemen, more soldiers, and carriages in case the ladies on horse should tire.

"I am always deep in thought," I said to my brother. "Are you surprised?"

"No, not at all – I was merely commenting on the fact it took me several times to catch your attention," Erchirion said with a grin.

"I apologize, dear brother – much has been on my mind of late," I told him.

"I see." Erchirion paused, and I held my breath. "Kel said he was very sorry that he could not accompany us on this journey."

I let my breath out slowly. I knew he would bring up Kel. "Did he now?" I asked. At our leave-taking, Kel had kissed the back of my hand and sounded very sad that I would not be returning immediately to Minas Tirith. I tried to act as nonchalant as possible. From the sidelines I felt Eomer's eyes on me, watching me.

"_Do not think I would ever choose you as an excuse to escape. I do not need a reason to choose you,"_ I had told Éomer days before while we danced. I had been trying to let him know that there was no competition, should he choose to fancy me. I wasn't sure I made my point clear enough.

"He did," Erchirion continued. "He cares very much for you, Lothíriel, and you could do worse than a decorated Swan Knight."

I sighed. "What are you, a matchmaker? I know he is your friend, Erchirion, but I do not care for the man. I only am kind to him for your sake," I said. My brother turned towards me, looking upset. I felt my stomach turn, feeling guilty. But for my sanity – and future romantic prospects – I had to be honest.

"For my sake? What about for your own? You are twenty years of age, Lothíriel, you need to think about your future –"

"Han nuitho! Keep your voice low or Father will hear," I snapped. "My future will be decided when I deem it necessary. Do not attempt to lecture me about my future when you are older than me and do not have a wife! Why must women take husbands? For status? If that is the case I will remain an old maid, so I do not have to worry whether or not my husband is good enough for the rest of the court --"

"Whatever you two are fighting about, you might want to keep it down," Amrothos said, riding up.

"Lothíriel is being pig-headed," Erchirion said, just as I said, "Erchirion wishes to marry me off."

Amrothos raised his eyebrows and laughed. "You two…be serious now. You know Lothíriel will get married when she's good and ready, Eri. And Lote, you know that Erchirion is just upset because you're rejecting a friend of his."

I turned to Amrothos. "You knew?"

"He's been angry about it for a day or so – he knows you don't like Kel."

Erchirion, frowning at Amrothos' words, rode off silently.

"Do you really think I need to get married?" I asked Amrothos. He had always been my closest brother, my playmate since we were so close in age.

"Lote," he said, "I think you will know the answer to that question when the time is right."

A call rang out and up ahead the riders stopped. I turned to Amrothos. "What's going on?"

"A break, perhaps – or noon meal. I'm starving," my brother said, dismounting. I laughed.

"You are no better than the perian," I chided. Amrothos reached up and offered a hand so I dismounted as well.

"The perian have life figured out, Lote," Amrothos said. He smiled and our gazes fell on the hobbits, who had dismounted from their ponies and who already were in their rucksacks.

"I must be honest and confess that having them around greatly increases my amusement," Amrothos said.

"They are sincere," I replied, nudging him in the ribs.

"I am sincere as well," Amrothos said. "So sincere that I am going to eat lunch with my new friends." He led his horse over to the hobbits and I laughed. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Faramir approaching.

"Have we stopped for lunch?" I asked. Faramir nodded.

"I believe so. Éomer thinks we should rest the horses for an hour or so, then set off again," Faramir replied, glancing over to where Éomer stood with his Marshals and Elessar.

"Prudent planning," I said quietly. Something about seeing him in the position of power and respect made my breath catch in my throat. _He was King of Rohan…_

"Indeed. But I wish that we weren't stopping – I wish to reach Edoras as soon as possible," Faramir said.

"Aye, your lady is fair my cousin, but I do not think she will give her heart away ere you see her again," I said.

"It is not a matter of that – merely a matter of desiring time with the one I love," Faramir replied. Two young squires approached, and we handed over our reins to them. I was eager to continue our conversation, and we walked slowly towards a small river nearby.

"A noble gesture, Faramir, but we no longer live in fear – time is not something we should worry about losing if we blink," I said. Faramir nodded.

"I am still in a state of awe over the fact she will be my wife. It seems as if I am walking through a dream, and at the end of the dream is Éowyn. "

He breathed her name as if it was a prayer, solemnly and reverently. His eyes took on a far-away gaze, and he continued. "And it is if all that I have wanted is finally there, at the end of that fog. She is everything I need, want, and desire."

Faramir laughed, shaking his head as if to clear the fog so he could see the path before him. "Perhaps it is but a dream."

"So that is love," I said. "Feeling that someone is everything you could want or desire in this world."

"I think it is based on an individual's feelings," Faramir said. "Love to one person could be the feeling of completion, or it could be the feeling of contentment, or perhaps both. Or none of the above." He stopped walking. "Why do you ask?"

"Erchirion was troubling me about Kel," I told him. "He was telling me I should be married already. I obviously don't agree."

"Love is spontaneous," Faramir said. "It's something that just happens."

"You wake up one day and say 'I'm in love!'?" I asked seriously.

"No…you wake up one day and realize that your sun and moon rise and set around one person. That they make you feel happier than you've ever felt. They make you want to live."

"Isn't that infatuation – your sun and moon rising and setting with the sole thought of one person?"

"Well," Faramir said, "I think infatuation is different. Infatuation would be basing your day on the thought of seeing the other person. Love is when the other person means a great deal to you, and brings out qualities that make you better." I noticed my cousin blushing again.

"I find it remarkable," I said. "To watch this change…I don't know. I didn't expect my serious cousin to become so silly when he talks about his love."

"Oh Lothíriel," Faramir said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "One day, I will watch you as you blush and giggle when the man you love is near you--"

"One day," I sighed wistfully. I saw Éomer in my peripheral vision, and I was sure Faramir saw him as well. I turned towards my cousin. "Shall we join Amrothos? He looks like he's having fun."

As we walked towards the five men seated on the ground, I was thankful that Faramir did not insinuate anything in regards to my future happiness and Éomer in the same breath. I did not even dare to think of that sort of thing.

* * *

I woke up that night shivering uncontrollably. My toes were frozen, and I knew that my cloak and thin fur were not enough for this unbearably cold night. 

"What now?" I asked to no one in particular. I would either sleep here, and freeze to death or risk catching a cold and having a miserable two-week journey to Edoras, or I could venture out of my cold bed into the windy night in hopes that a brother of mine would be up and could help me find the quartermaster's tent. Then, I could get a new blanket. Or perhaps they had an extra of their own! But our blankets were but nothing for this extra-cold night. I needed to find a woolen one.

I wrapped my cloak around my body and left the tent, the wind tangling my hair the moment I stepped out. I had hoped to find one of my brothers up, or perhaps a guard nearby. Instead, the camp seemed dead. I knew sentinels would be patrolling the periphery of the camp all night, but since our tents were located towards the center there were none nearby.

I looked around. The King of Gondor's tent was dark, as was my father's and my brothers' and Faramir's. Only one tent was lit inside, though dimly, by a single candle. Only one other person I could approach - and that was Éomer.

I shivered, wondering if perhaps I could find the quartermaster myself. I would have to wander through the rows of soldiers' tents, however, and I would probably get lost. Besides, Éomer was king. Kings always had more than enough supplies…hopefully he would have a blanket to spare.

Nervously, I started to walk towards his tent. It was but several down from my own, but the walk seemed to take forever. Two guards stood outside, and came to attention when I approached them. Their armor clanked, and before I could open my mouth Éomer called out something to them in Rohirric. I froze, wrapping the cloak tighter around me as one of them responded, including my name in his response.

Suddenly the tent flap opened and Éomer stepped out, looking concerned.

"Lothíriel, what are you --"he started to ask but then stopped. He came closer to me, and placed a warm hand on my cheek. "You're shivering."

I had not noticed how greatly I was shaking until I tried to speak, but Éomer shook his head. "Come inside – it's warmer here." He took my hand and led me into his tent, and I felt indecent, showing up at his tent at night in only a cloak and nightgown -- but in my defense I had hoped to find someone other than him awake.

I did have to admit, however, this wasn't that bad a compromise – a few moments brief humiliation, but at least I could be around him. I knew I missed Éomer – I just didn't really know how much until we were in the same small space, yet separated by titles and protocol.

Indeed his tent was warmer, for the skins were thicker and a coaler allowed coals to smolder and their smoke to escape through a small hole in the roof. Éomer had gone to a corner and quickly returned with a heavy woolen blanket, which he placed around my shoulders. He ran his arms up and down mine, trying to warm me up.

"You're frozen," he said, and I nodded, regaining my voice.

"I was coming to see if you had any blankets to spare," I said quietly. "I fear we did not anticipate such cold summer nights." I paused. "You are the only one yet awake."

Éomer laughed tiredly as he continued to rub my arms. "I was writing some dispatches. A king's work is never done, it seems."

I noticed I no longer felt cold; rather a warm heat was pooling in my stomach. Every movement of his hands radiated and seemed to burn my skin. I closed my eyes for a moment, looking up to see Éomer gazing down at me.

He moved his arms slowly to my back, bringing me closer to him as he traced circles with his fingertips. I willed my body to stop reacting, just so I wouldn't look like a fool in front of him, but it seemed I couldn't do that. But then again, looking at the intense gaze he was giving me, I didn't think I was the only one feeling something.

"Still cold?" he murmured softly. I noticed he was breathing heavily.

"No," I whispered, my entire body thrumming and focused on where his fingers were. Through three layers, his touch felt like white hot coals. Oh Eru, it was hard to breathe standing there…

I stepped back. I was unsure what to say. Éomer ran a hand down my arm, taking my hand in his.

"You may keep that blanket," he said. His eyes focused on me again.

"Do you not need it?" I asked. Éomer laughed.

"I don't think so," he said, his eyes resting on the pile of blankets near the cot where he would sleep. My eyes lingered there for a moment, remembering how peaceful his face had looked that one morning I happened upon him sleeping in Minas Tirith, and then quickly I averted my gaze. It was improper to even hint of vulgar thoughts…

…yet here I was, in the tent of the King of Rohan in naught but a cloak. Oh Eru, breeching protocol indeed.

"How are you?" he asked, drawing my attention back to the present. "I rarely get to speak with you on this trip, and I miss that."

"I am fine. Embarrassed at the moment, otherwise I'm fine." I allowed my thumb to rub against the top of his thumb. It seemed to me that stolen touches were all either of us managed.

"Embarrassed?"

"To show up a disheveled wreck at your door," I said quietly. As I reached up to smooth my tangled hair, Éomer's hand took mine and gently moved it to my side. He ran a hand through my hair instead.

"I like your hair when it's down," Éomer said softly. As he ran his fingers through it I realized he was detangling the mass of curls. I took a deep breath and reached up to his hand, moving it much like he had moved mine earlier. Our hands lingered, palms touching. I did not have any desire to let go, and Éomer did not seem to either. Instead, his dark eyes seemed to smolder as he gazed at me.

I was now completely convinced that Éomer felt exactly the same as I did.

My breathing was still heavy. I was aware of him with every fiber of my being, and I looked down. I needed to regain some composure. It was getting harder and harder to just be around him. It seemed like tension was mounting like a string stretched too tight, and soon it would snap.

I hoped it would not throw us apart.

"I should go," I said, regaining my mind and looking up at him. He nodded.

"I will escort you back," he said. "Do you need another blanket? I'll bring another one."

I laughed. "You will prepare me for a snowstorm in summer!"

"Better safe than sorry," Éomer said with a smile. "I can think of many who would mourn the loss of the Lady Lothíriel should she freeze to death."

I smiled and looked away, blushing. The intensity of our earlier moments seemed easily cast aside, but the tenderness was still there – in the way Éomer gathered extra blankets for me, and how he offered me his arm before walking me back to my tent.

"Thank you," I said softly once we arrived there.

"You're welcome," Éomer replied. For a moment, we stared at each other in silence. I did not know what he was thinking, but I knew I cared dearly for the man before me.

Then, I heard a giggle, and creaking of a cot from the direction of the King's tent. Éomer's eyes met mine, and I stifled a smile. Éomer, also, seemed to hide his amusement at the situation.

"At least someone is keeping warm the proper way," he finally said. Taking my hand, he kissed the back of it. "Goodnight, my lady."

I laid back onto my cot, the blanket wrapped around me snuggly. And it was not the blanket, but the touch of Éomer that kept me warm.

* * *

**Vocab:**

Han nuitho! Stop it!

_**Extra Bonus Points if you can identify the band whose song I named this title after. **I actually am lame enough to name chapters after songs. I'm such a geek._


	22. Of Princesses and Kings

_Author's Note 1: A New Year's present for my lovely readers. I guess the trick is to post during the dead days and you receive lots of love and reviews ;) I'm glad y'all are liking it so much. So here's the next chapter - please read and review, because I get really excited when I see review alerts in my inbox :)_

_Author's Note 2: According to Appendix B at the end of Return of the King, Eomer returns to Minas Tirith on July 18, and the party sets out July 19. They reach Edoras on August 7. That's about two weeks of travel time through Gondor into Rohan for Theoden's funeral. I'm not sure exactly how long it takes to get to Edoras from Minas Tirith - it seems to have taken Theoden about nine days to get there, but they were gathering men and spent three days detouring throuhg the forest. I'll assume, for the sake of this story, that the funeral procession of Theoden moves slowly through Gondor and Rohan so that villagers may pay their respects. So we've got two weeks of travel time to cover. We're on Day 5 right now. That's a lot of time for romance..._

**Chapter 18: Of Princesses and Kings** (Éomer POV) - Five Days out of Minas Tirith.

I missed Éowyn.

Being orphaned at a young age, we had been close growing up. But as Saruman's hold over our uncle increased and I found myself on the borders of Rohan more often than at Edoras, our relationship became strained. When I returned with Théodred before my banishment, Éowyn was significantly more withdrawn than I remembered. Her infatuation with Aragorn and her riding into battle seeking death did not surprise me.

But the love of Faramir seemed to heal her, for when we returned to Edoras after the coronation, she seemed much more alive than I had seen in years. And we had talked for hours upon hours about the future – specifically, her future with Faramir. Once I got her on that subject, she wouldn't stop talking. It made her happy, and it endeared him to me more.

I needed Éowyn here, now. I needed my closest friend. Although I had Elfhelm and many friends I could speak with, I needed Éowyn. I needed a woman's opinion, and specifically my sister's. Friend or not, I was still Elfhelm's king and he would not be rough with words. Éowyn, on the other hand, did not feel the need to be kind.

I needed Éowyn's advice about Lothíriel.

It had been two nights since she came to my tent seeking an extra blanket. I had provided warmth, I was sure, since she left with a flushed face and starry eyes. I had not meant to come off so bold when I touched her, but I could not help it. More and more the impulse to kiss her, to touch her, filled my mind. And I was truthful when I said I missed her – I did. Spending a day in Minas Tirith with her proved to be torture in the days that followed, since our unofficial processional had certain slots where we rode. Lothíriel rode behind me with her brothers; I rode in front with Aragorn and her father. We barely spoke.

I wanted to figure out what to do. I knew that my intentions towards Lothíriel were romantic and I wanted nothing more than to court her. But I did not want the official proceedings, the pomp and circumstance that would accompany my asking for permission to court Lothíriel.

Asking for permission to court would mean asking for permission to marry Lothíriel. While I personally did not mind the idea, I knew my advisors would be against it if I did not ask their opinion first. As a new king, I could not risk offending some of my advisors. I would have to wait and see.

I also knew that Lothíriel was rather reluctant to get married any time in the near future. Two days before, I had accidentally overheard a conversation between Lothíriel and Faramir where she had plainly stated she was not ready to get married. I doubt she meant anyone to hear it, but it strengthened my argument against courtship.

What, then, was my option? Stolen touches and glances when no one else was looking? Meetings in the moonlight, when everyone else was asleep?

I would have to take whatever I could get, I realized, if I wanted Lothíriel's heart.

I shook my head and dipped my quill into the inkpot before me. I had meant to start the letter to Éowyn hours before, but my thoughts caught up with me. And so here I was, writing letters by the light of a single candle. What I seemed to do every night. But since the weather had gotten warmer, I doubted I would be treated to a surprise visit tonight.

_Éowyn,_

_The weather has been treating us well. The nights were a bit cool to begin with – much too cool for the Dol Amroth folk, it seems._

I placed my quill down and groaned. Whatever I did, I could not get the image of Lothíriel out of my head. Flushed cheeks, wild hair, gray eyes that urged me on --

"My lord!" a guard called out. I stood up quickly, hoping it was Lothíriel seeking something more than a blanket.

"Yes?" I responded.

"One of the guards saw something…interesting." The guard sounded confused.

"Interesting? What did he find?"

I heard mumbling, and decided to see what the fuss was about. A sentry guard stood outside.

"I wasn't quite sure what to do, my lord, so I thought to ask you," he said. He was young, not more than sixteen if any older than that. They were always younger after the war. I nodded.

"Show me."

We walked through the tents until we neared the outer edges, close to where the horses were kept.

"There, my lord," the guard said, pointing.

A figure in grey stood opposite the horse corral. Bow in hand, she shot at a target far from the horses.

"The princess Lothíriel, I see," I said quietly. "I will handle this."

"My lord --"

"It's just a lady up too late," I replied. "Go back to your post."

The sentry nodded and left. I continued to look on from a distance for a moment. Lothíriel seemed to be concentrating hard on her shots, but her form appeared a bit…off. She obviously was not an archer. But regardless of why she was out here, I was glad. Any time spent around her was time well spent.

"May I ask what you are doing?" I said, laughing as I approached. Lothíriel turned and smiled meekly.

"In Minas Tirith, Legolas gave me some lessons with bow and arrow. I thought I'd practice. I couldn't sleep."

In the moonlight I saw that she had only gotten two on the target – the rest lay on the ground.

I raised my eyebrows. "Let me see your form."

She quickly straightened and held the bow and string like she was about to shoot.

"You're doing it wrong," I said. "That's why you're not hitting the target as often as you like."

"I never claimed to be an excellent marksman," she said quickly. Glancing over, I saw that I had offended her skill, and made a note never to criticize any of her endeavors. She obviously took pride in her ability to learn things quickly.

"Your only problem," I said quietly, "is in how you are holding the bow."

"You shoot?" she asked skeptically.

"A bit. When you're camping in the wilderness you get tired of dried meat," I said.

"So you hunt for sport, then?" she asked. I nodded.

"Would not hunting for sport be more rushed, with less emphasis on form and more on accuracy?"

"You need both form and accuracy to hit the target," I said. "Hold up your bow."

She did as I asked. I placed my hands on her hips and straightened them. "Line up with the target," I said. Keeping a hand on her hip, I used the other to straighten her arm more.

"You're pointing down," I said. "Use your shoulder to guide you. Point it toward the target."

As Lothíriel responded to my directions, I realized how close I was and where my hands were at that moment. My face was near her hair, my body aligned with hers. I was unsure what to do. While there had been enough pretty bar wenches and girls, none of them had inspired me to woo them. Lothíriel was different in many ways, and I didn't want to offend her with my inexperience. I would have to figure this out instinctively, with much trial and error.

"Now, let's try this hand," I said. I removed my hand from her hip and placed it on the hand the arrow.

"Your fingers should grip it firmly enough for it to stay in place, but gently enough to let it slip through your fingers when you shoot." I gently allowed my fingers to glide along her hand and I heard her breath hitch.

Smiling, I leaned closer, placing my lips next to her ear.

"Relax – you're tense," I whispered. I felt a shiver go through her body, and she turned her head towards me.

"It's your fault," she said quietly. "You're the one who thinks I'm doing this all wrong." She leaned back slightly into me. I returned my hands to her hips.

"My fault?" I asked. "I'm trying to help." I took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. I could spend forever near her and be happy. Lothíriel arched her neck. Exhaling, I lightly touched my lips to her exposed neck. I heard her drop the bow, and her hands were now on top of mine. I knew I had to kiss her.

Reluctant to move my hand but eager to kiss her, I reached up and turned her chin so that our lips were mere inches apart. I licked mine slowly. Lothíriel's eyes fell to my lips then rose again to meet mine.

"You are trying to seduce me, my lord," she said with a slow smile. I laughed softly.

"And you are not as averse to it as you might seem," I said. It was her turn to laugh.

"All I did was come here to practice and now I fear you have put me in a compromising situation," she replied. "You are far too close. And I don't seem to mind."

"Good," I said, placing a kiss below her ear, desiring to seduce her as much as possible.

Suddenly her body stiffened and her hands tore mine from her waist. She quickly picked up the bow and posed, arrow in hand.

"Like this?" she asked, her voice just a little shaky. She shot a glance at me and I knew that someone was approaching. I chided myself for not hearing footsteps, but then I heard it –- someone was whistling.

"Hold your back arm out more – you need to point it more," I said. "There. Can you aim?"

"Barely while keeping form," she said, collapsing into a fit of giggles. Her eyes flickered over. "Hello, Amrothos."

The prince of Dol Amroth emerged from the same spot I had earlier, and I wondered if he had seen how forward I had been with his sister. But Amrothos seemed to be amused by Lothíriel's fit of laughter, and I smiled as well.

"Teaching her to shoot?" he asked. "She's a dedicated learner. She'll keep you here until dawn to make sure she gets it right."

"There is nothing wrong with being a perfectionist," Lothíriel said.

"Oh Lote," Amrothos said, smiling at his younger sister. He looked up at me. "I'm sorry if she dragged you out here, we really should keep her tied up --"

"Amrothos!" Lothíriel exclaimed, hitting him with the bow. "That's not very nice."

"No, she did not bother me," I replied. "A sentry found her out here and wasn't quite sure what to do with her." I smiled at Lothíriel, who was still pouting at her brother's words.

"That's alright, we're not sure what to do with her half the time either --" Amrothos said as Lothíriel continued to hit him. I stepped forward and managed to pull her off and in my arms she quieted down a bit. Reluctantly, I let her go before Amrothos suspected anything – not that there was anything, really, to suspect.

Amrothos laughed. "Oh Lote," he said. "How long will you be out?"

"As long as I feel like it," she replied, dropping the bow. She picked up her quiver and set about collecting the arrows scattered near the target.

"She's definitely got a mind of her own," Amrothos said softly to me. "Not that I mind it, really. It makes her endearing."

"I see," I said. I was trying to sound as passive as possible.

"So you're teaching her to shoot?" he asked. I nodded.

"As best I can. I don't intend to stay up until dawn," I replied. Amrothos nodded.

"Well, I guess I can leave then. I'm exhausted." With a slap on my back, Amrothos departed. I turned to watch him leave.

"I do not think he saw anything."

I turned to see Lothíriel approaching, the full quiver in her hands.

"You don't have to stay out here."

"You no longer want my company?" I asked. She laughed softly.

"No," she said, stopping far enough away from so that we could not touch, "it is your company I desire above all else. I don't want you to feel burdened to watch me."

"You're no burden at all," I said quietly. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth, and then she bent to pick up the discarded bow.

"I think I'm done here anyway," Lothíriel said. "I just needed to get some exercise. I had been riding in the carriage all day and wasn't very tired." She frowned. "Your sentry found me?"

"Indeed, and I came out here not really knowing what was going on," I told her. The frown deepened.

"I hope my actions did not wake you," she said softly.

"On the contrary, you are what kept me awake," I said. In the moonlight I saw her take a deep breath.

"I am glad I can be of some service, then," she said with a smile. I laughed.

"I was writing to Éowyn," I said, to redeem my earlier comment from sounding too lewd.

"You miss her," Lothíriel said, as we started to walk back towards the camp.

"I do. She is my closest friend."

"I would be lost without Faramir and Amrothos," Lothíriel said. "Even if Amrothos is more trouble than he is worth."

"Older brothers are supposed to be trouble," I said.

"I know," she said softly. "But sometimes…he frustrates me so."

"I'm sure Éowyn feels the same way about me," I said.

"You frustrate me as well, but not in the same way," Lothíriel said quietly. I stopped and turned towards her.

"And how do I frustrate you?" I said, taking a step closer. Instead she laughed and stepped away from my grasp.

"I am afraid it is time for good princesses to go to bed," she said. Stepping forward, she quickly kissed my cheek then stepped back. "Goodnight."

And with that she was running between the tents back to her own, making very little sound at all. Perhaps Elvish blood did run through her veins…

Reluctantly, I turned back towards my own tent, where a candle still burned. My thoughts were whirling through my mind. I had been bold and she had responded willingly to my actions. She had all but acknowledged she cared for me. She had made it plain she did not mind if I kissed her…

I sighed as I entered my tent. All of this felt too fresh to comprehend – as if it all was too fast. And yet still I had not kissed her. Was I doing something wrong?

I would ask Elfhelm in the morning. I needed to finish my letter to Éowyn so that it would be sent out as soon as possible. I picked up my quill again.

_Oh Éowyn, I could use your advice right now…_


	23. Answers

_Author's Note: Thank you once again to all who reviewed and to my beta. Because a new semester dawns on me, updates will be coming as fast as I can manage but I wanted to give you a heads up nonetheless. As always, reveiws and comments are excellent and always taken seriously. _

**Chapter 19: Answers **(Lothíriel POV)

"Lothíriel?"

I looked up from my book. "Yes?" I whispered back to my secret visitor.

"Can I come in?" The whisper was so loud it was almost comical.

I laughed as I caught sight of a tiny shadow in front of my tent. "Surely, my dear friend. Come in!" I whispered back.

The tent flap opened and Pippin scrambled into my tent. He looked as if he had dressed in a hurry, for his shirt was not tucked into his pants and his hair was disheveled looking. Then again, I thought, hobbits always managed to have disheveled looking hair. I touched one of the two braids I had plaited earlier, musing that perhaps hobbits were not the only ones with rat's nests atop their heads.

"Thank you," he said as he sat near me on the floor. The ground was covered with animal skins to keep the warmth in. I had requested an extra layer, though the weather had gotten warmer. It was more a precaution than anything else, so I didn't need to go looking for extra blankets in the middle of the night anymore.

With scholarly questions, such as my inquiry with the 'Rohirric' books, I would work diligently until the problem was solved. But with men, I seemed to create the problem, then let it resolve itself. Not exactly the best way to deal with a certain situation, because I did want to solve the problem…I just didn't know how.

I looked at my friend. "What's wrong, Pippin?" I asked, noticing that he wouldn't meet my eyes and instead kept looking around my tent.

"I, eh, wanted to see you," he said. I shook my head.

"You are like me," I said as I closed the book in my lap. "You cannot sleep either."

"No…not really. I've been sleeping quite well. But I honestly did want to see you! You don't always ride on your horse so I can't always talk to you while we travel."

"That is true," I said with a smile. "I love riding on my horse, but I find that some days I'd rather read than ride."

"You're a lot like Faramir, aren't you?"

"We tend to think the same way. I think that happens when you spend time around someone while growing up," I replied.

"So what exactly is going on between you and the King of Rohan?"

I raised my eyebrows. "What?" The sudden transition from my cousin to Éomer caught me off guard. For Pippin to even ask this question…meant he must have seen something. Or I was acting more love struck than I thought.

"You and Éomer. Merry said he saw you two in a very compromising position several days ago…" Pippin said. He had a silly grin on his face.

I could remember clearly what happened several days ago. In fact, it seemed to consume my thoughts. I had needed to clear my mind – the events in Éomer's tent still seared into my memory – and thought that if I did something physical, something where I could concentrate hard, I'd forget. At least for a time.

I did not intend on Éomer finding me. I certainly did not intend on his romantic advances. And I certainly did not fight them off. I wanted to feel as I had felt. I wanted to be in his arms. I wanted to kiss him. I would have, if it wasn't for Amrothos.

I was still cross at him and he, thankfully, assumed it was only because he teased me. I did not attempt to correct him.

"Merry said this, now did he?" I asked. Pippin nodded.

"So do you love him or not?"

"That's a funny question," I replied.

"I think it's quite honest," Pippin said. The earnest look on his face made me laugh.

"Let's go find Merry," I replied, taking Pippin's hand. "Then we can clear up this whole misunderstanding." I would have to handle this situation delicately, and that required finding the other hobbit and explaining to them that it was merely an archery lesson. Standing, we exited the tent to find Merry.

And we collided with a wall of solid muscle.

"Whoa," a familiar voice said, catching me before I fell. I glanced up, then glanced at Pippin.

"Hello your highness!" Pippin said to Éomer, bowing. "What could you possibly be doing here?" The look on the hobbit's face automatically scandalized the situation.

"I was having trouble sleeping," he said, looking at me. "And you still were up."

"It seems everyone is," I replied. "Still awake, that is. Or at least hobbits are. Perhaps you are just looking for that blanket I borrowed?"

"No, no," he laughed. "More like looking for your company. Would you come with me on a walk?" he asked.

I looked at Pippin. Should I drag Éomer with me to handle his own esquire, or should I deal with this myself? An idea dawned.

"Pippin says that Merry saw us in a 'compromising position' when you were teaching me how to shoot," I said to Éomer. Éomer raised his eyebrows.

"Compromising position?" he said, confused. Or he was just playing along and acting confused. I wasn't sure.

"You had your arms around her!" a fourth voice called out. Merry stumbled out from behind a tent, and I shot an amused look at Éomer.

"I'm sorry, your highness, it's just, well…I must have misunderstood something. We hobbits are quite the romantics, and it looked like you weren't just teaching her to shoot."

"I assure you, Master Brandybuck, it was entirely innocent," Éomer said, and I thought of the feel of his lips against my neck and the shivers of excitement it sent through me. Innocent indeed.

"I can do many things but I can't shoot," I said. "Something about how you're supposed to move your arm a certain way…" I held out my left arm in an awkward position, and Éomer laughed.

"You keep getting it wrong. Point your shoulder towards the target –"

"See Merry, I told you it was nothing," Pippin said. "I didn't need to go bother her about it."

"That's why you came to visit me?" I asked. Pippin looked thoroughly embarrassed.

"Well…not exactly—"

"I'm not offended, Pippin. In fact, I'm grateful that Éomer is here so we could set the record straight. We don't need gossip spreading around, especially gossip involving the King of Rohan," I said. Pippin and Merry nodded.

"We didn't mean to do any harm," he said to Éomer. Éomer shook his head.

"Quite alright, Merry. But I think we should worry more about compromising the Lady Lothíriel's reputation than my own. Nevertheless, I think this matter is settled."

Merry and Pippin nodded. "Well, goodnight!" Pippin said, as he and his cousin scampered back to their own tent bickering the entire way.

"Would you still accompany me on a walk?" Éomer asked. I nodded. We started slowly walking towards the other row of tents.

"You weren't having trouble sleeping, were you?" I asked quietly. Éomer looked a little embarrassed.

"I came to apologize. About the other day -- I was too forward," he said. "I shouldn't have done…what I did, and if I have offended you by any of my behavior, I am sorry."

"On the contrary, I'm only offended you haven't done anything particularly scandalous," I replied. Éomer looked at me. He had a silly grin on his face.

"Éowyn used to wear braids like this when she was younger," he said, lifting one of the two plaits.

"I grow frustrated with pins on the road," I said. "The days seem longer when one travels."

"Indeed they do, and the nights longer still." Éomer grew silent, then continued. "The apology was my main reason for finding you…but I am having trouble sleeping. My dreams are becoming more disturbing. Perhaps it is this trip. I seem to be reliving the worst moments of the past year every night, along with the best."

"I think we'll always be haunted by what happened," I said, unable to keep from cringing that the memories I always tried to suppress – the cry of the Nazgul mingling with the cry of the wounded, the picture of my cousin fighting for his life…

"I wouldn't mind my dreams if they were all good dreams."

"I should hope that the best moments offset the worst," I said.

"They do. I dream about you," he said.

"Oh," I replied. I laughed. "Those sorts of dreams." I was flattered, to be honest. The fact that I had made my way into Éomer's dreams seemed to confirm what I already guessed – he had romantic feelings towards me.

"They aren't scandalous at all," Éomer said, stopping and trying to redeem his prior words. "I swear, I might be forward now but in dreams I am quite the gentleman."

"I don't find your actions too forward," I said softly, placing a hand on his arm. I decided that we had been dancing this dance to long. It was time for me to solve this problem. "I have recurring dreams as well."

"You do? What of?"

"Everyday things – good and bad. And the good moments of my year. I seem to be having the same one over and over again." _Here goes…_

"I never remember if I have repeating dreams," Éomer said.

"I do. And in my dream," I said, my voice a husky whisper, "this is where you kiss me."

"Lothíriel." He spoke my name as if it was sacred and carried some great worth. My heart beat faster as my body became warmer, and I took a step forward. As I looked up to place a tentative kiss on his lips, he captured mine first. He pulled me closer until I was pressed against the length of his body, my hands traveling to find a place on his back. Nothing existed save the movement of his lips against mine.

Suddenly his lips were gone and I was forced to open my eyes. At least I had kissed him. I would not regret missed opportunities.

When I opened my eyes I realized his hands had not moved and staring down at me were the two most intense eyes I had ever seen. In the moonlight they were dark and yet I could clearly read the desire in them. I reached a hand up to brush across his lips, and he pressed a kiss against my fingers.

"Lothíriel," he sighed again, and I felt every bit of the blood that ran through my body. I tilted my chin up and whispered, "That was better than in the dream." I brushed my lips across his jaw line and his body seemed to grow hotter as a low guttural sound came from his throat. My arms were wrapped around him, hands pressing into his back, feeling the well-defined muscles through his shirt. I did not want to let him go.

Éomer laughed, and when he spoke his voice was husky. "Does your dream indicate what will happen next?" he asked, his fingers lightly circling the small of my back.

My forehead was pressed against his shoulder, for I felt as if my legs would give out if I did not hold on tight. My mind was spinning, my legs were weak, my entire body was reacting in ways I was unfamiliar with but welcomed all the same.

"No," I said. "It does not."

"Then I will have to write the next scene," Éomer said, a hand trailing down my face to rest on my chin. He angled my face up until he could look into my eyes, and I felt his body tremble as well.

Finally he kissed me. Instead of the earlier kiss – mere exploration, hesitation, fear of rejection – this kiss was hungry. His lips sought out mine with a fervor I did not think possible and I responded in kind. I pressed my body into his, feeling every muscle along the length of his body and more. He held me tighter and despite how close we were, it never felt close enough. As his tongue opened my lips, I met it eagerly and heard him groan. He lowered his hand from my hair and brushed it lightly across the side of my breast as he moved it to my hip, and I trembled at the contact. His fingers sent fire coursing through my veins, and my body was aflame.

And then, again, his lips were gone from mine and his hands hesitated.

"Lothíriel," he said sternly and I opened my eyes as if in a dream.

"What--?"

"Be quiet," he said. I heard voices in the distance. He grabbed my hand, pulling me through the rows of tents until we were near our own. We ducked behind mine.

"I told you! I told you they were in love!" I heard a hobbit whisper loudly to his cousin.

"Quiet Pippin! Maybe they want it to be a secret!"

"Why would they want to keep it a secret?"

"Maybe Lothíriel has someone in Dol Amroth –"

The voices passed by us and Éomer looked at me. We had ended up with him sitting on the ground and me sitting in his lap. His face was inches from mine.

"So…do you have someone in Dol Amroth?" he asked, concern showing in his dark eyes. I shook my head and smiled.

"The men of Gondor are not my type. I prefer blond men, like the men of Rohan." He pulled me closer.

"I see," Éomer said. He started to leave a trail of kisses on my neck, only pausing to ask, "Is there any specific man of Rohan you admire?"

"Only one," I said, closing my eyes. His kisses sent tingles throughout my body.

"Why do you like him so much?" he asked, leaving my neck to look at me.

"A lady must keep some secrets," I said. He smiled and leaned forward to kiss me again.

When he ended the kiss, he looked me in the eyes. "If Merry and Pippin are still lurking around, they might find us. And since I don't know how discreet hobbits are, I'm afraid of compromising you."

I laughed. "I do not fear being compromised, nor do I think that an esquire of Rohan would not be discreet about his king kissing a maiden."

Éomer laughed softly. "True. But…still…"

"I know," I said.

"I do not think I will get much sleep tonight," Éomer said softly. "What good is sleep when dreams come true?"

"I am sorry if I distract you," I said.

"You are worthy distraction," he replied.

I stood up, and offered a hand to help Éomer stand as well. We looked at each other for a moment, holding hands. I took a deep breath. One thought seemed to pass silently between us. _If it took us so long to get here, where do we go now?_

"May I ask you something?" he finally said. I nodded.

"Promise me that you will let me kiss you again."

"Now?" I asked.

"No. Not now. Some other time," he said, a small smile on his lips. "Is that –"

"It's not too forward. I promise you that you can kiss me whenever you want," I said softly. My heart was still beating fast.

Éomer nodded and then kissed my forehead. "Sleep well, my lady," he said before letting go of my hands.

I smiled and replied, "Sleep well, my lord." I remained where I was as Éomer turned and walked slowly back to his own tent.

My legs were shaking so badly that I was barely able to walk. I fell down onto the floor of my tent. I could not speak or breathe, it seemed, without wanting to cry out in happiness.

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_Author's Note 2: Someone requested smoochies, I believe. I hope I have fulfilled your request. :)_


	24. Negotiations

_Author's Note: I can't help but write these before every chapter - I'm such a geek. Anyway...new chapter! More dialogue-driven but the next one will make up for that! Reviews are the nectar of the gods and I thank each and every one of you who has reviewed. Keep reviewing - I like to know what the readers of this story think. It helps me.

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**Chapter 20: Negotiations** (Éomer POV) _

_My dear brother_

_Well, you have certainly gotten yourself into a situation! I fear by the time this letter reaches you that you will either have garnered her affection or her spite, and there is not much I can say to help with that!_

_I do not know if I have much advice for you, but the advice I do give is to follow your heart. If Faramir did not follow his, I would be too timid to have done anything myself and be unhappy today. _

_I hope that by the time this letter reaches you that your heart has led you in the right direction. I wish to see you happy, my dear brother._

_Your sister, Éowyn_

Éowyn was right. By the time the letter reached me, it had been several days since I had kissed Lothíriel. The only time I kissed her, since a nasty rainstorm held us up – and sent members of the courts to seek shelter –for two days. I had barely seen Aragorn, much less Faramir or Imrahil. The only people I saw frequently were the muddied and bedraggled scouts that returned from their missions.

We had sent the women and children into a nearby town while some of us pitched tents on saturated soil. I preferred to be outside rather than cooped up inside, despite the dampness.

I almost thought the rainstorm an omen.

Being stuck inside most of the day led me to think about Lothíriel a great deal. I missed her company and I wanted to kiss her again – if she'd let me. Even that was presuming too much, though she had promised me when I asked – a silly question, in truth. But I needed something, some sort of validation, to give me hope that I hadn't made a fool of myself. I needed something more concrete than the image of Lothíriel, her face flushed and her breathing heavy, to give me hope.

I felt bad that I remembered every detail of the kiss, but then again it had been a very nice kiss and one I particularly enjoyed. My head was so filled with thoughts of kissing Lothíriel that when the lady of my daydreams entered the tent I fell off my cot.

Immediately, Lothíriel laughed.

"My lord, if I have come at a bad time…" she said. She seemed amused at having caught me off-guard.

"No…I'm actually quite bored so company is most welcome." I tried to keep the embarrassment from coloring my face, but I did not think I was successful. Lothíriel said nothing, but sat down on the floor near the makeshift hearth.

"I have chairs," I said, standing up and feeling embarrassment once more. I should not have let my mind wandered – if Lothíriel knew what I had been thinking about, she would never talk to me again!

"Believe it or not, it's warmer here," she said. "I'm horribly bored. The rain let up, and I realized I could go and visit someone."

"And you chose to visit me?" I asked. I sat down next to her. She was right – it was warmer there.

"I missed you," she said shy. "I mean, after all, you did rather leave me in the lurch…" Lothíriel's eyes met mine and she blushed as the mutual memory of our kiss passed between us.

"Are you sure you're not here to fulfill a promise?" I teased, edging closer. My tease was rewarded with a smack on my arm.

"You're supposed to be a little more polite than that," Lothíriel teased back. She nudged my shoulder with her own. "I suppose I did promise…"

"You did," I replied eagerly. Having her next to me made me want to kiss her desperately.

Lothíriel smiled. "I cannot go back on my word, now can I?" she asked softly while her hand stroked my cheek. I leaned down closer to her face until we were mere inches away.

"No," I replied, and Lothíriel lifted her head to kiss me. Like the first time, it was as if a bolt of lightning shot through me. Her lips were as soft as I remembered and I realized how much I enjoyed this. I enjoyed being around Lothíriel, kisses or no kisses, but the kisses were definitely a benefit.

As much as I enjoyed kissing Lothíriel, something bothered me. The feeling that this – all of this, Lothíriel's presence here and whatever we thought we were doing – was somehow wrong caused me to pull away from her.

Lothíriel looked up at me as I stood and walked away. It was more an effort to clear my head than anything else, for if I remained beside her my thoughts would be even more muddled.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and when I turned to face her, I saw concern in her eyes.

"I really do like you, very much, but something feels wrong. This isn't – I don't think – this is my uncle's funeral procession and –"

"You mourn your uncle's passing," she said, standing. "Perhaps, though, he would want you to be happy? At least, assuming that I make you happy –"

I quickly crossed the tent and took her hands. "You do. Trust me. But…I guess this isn't real, in many ways. Even though we carry the casket with us, it hasn't sunk in yet."

"Death is hard," Lothíriel said softly. "It is never easy to accept that those we love are taken from us in such an arbitrary fashion. It never seems fair."

I nodded. I remembered that, like myself, she had lost her cousin and her uncle in this war.

"You were close to your cousin?" I asked. Lothíriel nodded.

"My mother died giving birth to me. My father was left to raise four children on his own. My cousins from Minas Tirith were around as often as they could be, and we visited them whenever our father had business in the city." She paused. "Sometimes I think Boromir will return, riding into the city in splendor. But I know in my heart he will not."

"I met your cousin," I told her. "He was a good man." Lothíriel nodded but did not speak.

"Théodred was older than us, but like a brother. He taught me how to ride, how to fight…how to woo ladies," I said, brushing my fingers against her cheek. Lothíriel leaned into my hand and I let it linger there, cupping her face.

"Your cousin and your uncle were good men, and occupy seats of honor in the halls of your ancestors. That is why this trip matters. Your uncle deserved this. It is different with my uncle."

"His body was entombed in the rubble, was it not?" I asked. She nodded.

"It is not the lack of body that prevents me from mourning. I did not like the man."

I was surprised. "I heard stories that Denethor was a good leader of men."

She shook her head. "A father should never favor one son above another. That was his downfall."

"I think it is more than just that which makes you dislike him so," I said. I had seen Lothíriel's fierce loyalty to Faramir. When in Minas Tirith, I heard rumours of Denethor favoring his eldest son over his younger one. The two ideas seemed to correspond, but the look in Lothíriel's eyes told me it was more than just love and loyalty that caused her to despise her uncle.

"Leaders are given great responsibility," she said. "What did he do to protect Minas Tirith? He did not send the women and children into the mountains! He did not build an army to handle the threat of Mordor. Because of that, I despise him as well."

"You hold a high standard for leaders."

"No, I hold a harsh standard. I have read too much history of the kings of old, and I believe that honor is better than land. But I fear I offer too much criticism, and little practical advice."

"I hope you never have cause to criticize my abilities – I fear what you would say," I told her. Lothíriel laughed, the small smile on her face seeming to bright up the dim tent.

"My lord, I am not your subject so I cannot judge. Or, perhaps I do not feel fit to judge."

And then, it dawned on me. "I think that I have found a way to see you after all," I said.

"What?"

"You are well-learned in diplomacy and political matters, and you have aided me well in the past. Perhaps you could advise me." _And she could spend time with me, and I wouldn't have to worry about lying and it would be advising, since she was gifted in that area…_I leapt at any reason to keep her near me.

"Don't you have advisors for that?" Lothíriel teased.

"I do – but I don't always trust their advice. Yours would be completely unbiased as you are not from Rohan," I said.

"I think this might work – but do not lure me into your tent, Éomer, and hope that I will only give you kisses and not advice," she said. For all her teasing I worried she would be offended, but the look in her pale eyes told me she was greatly amused.

"My lady, I do not think you understand that I admire you more than for kisses alone."

"Really?" More amusement flickered in those spellbinding eyes.

"I told you this once before – I admire your intelligence and your passion and your care for your loved ones." I spoke from my heart, holding her hands tightly and wishing for her to understand all that I was trying to tell her.

"I remember."

"I think the reason I like you so much is I feel so..." I struggled to find the right words, "…at ease around you. Everything seems so much easier – even smiling."

Lothíriel smiled in response. "I like you because I feel like, for once in my life someone - I'm going to sound silly here-"

"No," I said. "Go on." I desperately wanted to hear what she was going to say.

"I've never felt closer to someone in my life – not Faramir, not Amrothos, not even my father. I never had many girl friends when I was young – growing up with boys made it easier to get along with them. And as I grew older, I found the catty girls of the court became the catty ladies of the court and the boys who were my brothers' friends became interested in me not for who I was, but rather for my potential to be a good wife. And so I withdrew, mostly, from friendships – it came at an opportune time, since the men were going off to fight the enemy and there was more work to be done in Council. But, regardless…not to sound presumptuous, but you seem not to care that I read books and I like political things and I do whatever stupid things come to mind like running my mouth off here-"

"No – that's exactly what I admire so much about you," I said. My heart was in my throat and I noticed tears in Lothíriel's eyes. "That's why I started to care for you. Because of the fact that you're different. It sounds silly, but I don't have to impress you. You don't see me as a king or a warrior. You see me as Éomer."

Lothíriel leaned forward and kissed me. I held her close and when she ended the kiss, I looked down and brushed away the lone tear track. Her grey eyes were wide and her face struggled with something she wanted to say.

"How does this work?" Lothíriel asked finally.

"How does what work?" I asked.

"How do we go from being friends to being more than friends?" she asked. "Does that break the friendship, or simply add a new dimension to it?"

I furrowed my brows. "When I was young, my uncle told me that my parents were best friends. I guess people that care deeply for each other can be friends as well as lovers."

Lothíriel laughed and leaned her forehead against mine. "So this will work," she said softly. "We can be friends that kiss." She paused. "That sounds so horribly silly."

"Nothing is silly about kissing," I said, placing my lips against hers.

"Nothing is silly about kissing you," she said solemnly when we stopped. Her grey eyes burned with intensity, and I found myself captivated once more by the woman before me.

I smiled and drew her closer to me. "I think this will work perfectly."


	25. At the Threshold

_Author's Note: I apologize for the delay between chapters, but hope that the length of this will make up for it. Thanks to my fabulous beta once again. Read and Review please, give me an early birthday present ;)_

* * *

**Chapter 21: At the Threshold** _(Lothíriel POV)_

Edoras. The Golden Hall shone like a beacon in the midday sun, and all around us the Rohirrim seemed to sigh. They were home at last.

Théoden was home at last.

A sadness seemed to possess our caravan once we neared Rohan's borders. People came from far and wide to pay their respects to their king. They threw flowers on the road, beautiful white flowers which we trampled with our horses and our feet.

"Simbelmyne," Éomer had said when I asked him the name of the beautiful flower. He spoke the words in a reverent tone. "It grows on the tombs of our ancestors, and in patches here and there. It is a flower of death, and of new life."

"Such opposites," I replied.

One night, we had managed to slip away from the guards to walk through Rohan's countryside. I felt free for the first time in ages –- no brothers or guards around, just Éomer and myself. Our hands were linked and I felt as if I had melted into him and become him, the closeness we shared was so overpowering.

I thought it rather funny that the majority of this relationship, if it could even be called that, was spent hiding it from others. I had already perceived that Éomer was keeping it quiet for my sake – sometimes I swore he wanted to shout from the rooftops, he seemed that happy.

But me? I preferred a lack of ceremony. I knew what a courtship would be like - stifling. I had seen it when Elphir was of age and had an interest in a lady at court. I knew it could be difficult for feelings to grow in such a situation. I wanted to be free, to allow my life to be influenced not by outside factors, but by my own desires.

We walked to the edge of a hill, and looked down on mile after mile of grass. Blades moved in the moonlight, rippling like a sea and I thought of home.

Éomer brushed a kiss on my forehead and pulled me closer.

"We shall arrive at Edoras in two days time," Éomer said. "I look forward to showing you Rohan."

"Your kingdom," I said quietly.

"And my home," he added.

"And thus will end our interludes." For being such a romantic, I was also realistic. I knew there was only so much sneaking people could do in a confined space. I also knew that once we arrived, there would be advisors and ritual and much to do before a funeral took place. I tried not to think about the eligible young women.

"No," Éomer said softly. "We will have to be more careful. That is, if you wish to continue to sneak out with me, throwing proper behavior to the wind-"

I kissed him, catching him by surprise. "I would," I said. "Proper behavior is nothing."

It had occurred to me that proper behavior was nothing if I could not follow my heart.

"Look," Amrothos whispered, drawing me out of the pleasant memory and into the sad present. We had drawn closer to the city, and now the sheer size of it astounded me. On a hill, in the middle of a plain edged by mountains with snowy peaks, was Edoras. At the top was a great hall, and banners blew in the wind.

"It is beautiful," I told him. "Breathtaking, really."

Amrothos laughed. "Let us hope the women of Rohan are much like their city – beautiful _and_ breathtaking." I laughed.

The party drew closer to the city. The Riders spoke to each other, and their excitement at arriving home was tempered by their sadness at the funeral, which would happen in a few days.

People lined the road up to Edoras, and more simbelmyne was thrown down before the cart bearing the casket. There was a hushed silence, an awkward silence, because of the group of foreigners that had come to honor Théoden King. I was certain that the elves received the majority of the stares, but I could feel the pinprick of eyes watching me as well. I thought it odd – I didn't look so different from women in my own land - but this was not my own land. Here amongst the people whose golden hair and deep blue eyes, I would stand out.

It occurred to me when we rode through Edoras that, save for the ladies of court, I was the only unattached woman in the procession. I came with my father and my brothers, but I was not a lady in waiting, and I was not married. _What if they think I am here to marry their king? _I thought. I was thankful they did not know that I cared for Éomer in any way. Perhaps, if I could remain impassive, I would ward off any assumptions…

We made our way through the gate and into the city, guiding our horses up to a rustic town square. I glanced towards Faramir. He was looking at the hall at the top of the hill with excitement. Following his gaze, I saw Éowyn, dressed all in white, standing and waiting. Her eyes immediately found Faramir's, and I thought how wonderful it felt to be waiting for someone and the joy you felt at their arrival…

Again, I felt pinpricks and turned to see who was staring at me. I was surprised to find Éomer's eyes on me, meeting mine for a brief moment before turning away. He had come to a stop, and with him the rest of the party. Éomer dismounted his horse and we followed.

"What do you think of it?" Erchirion said, drawing near. I looked at the city once more. It was different now that we were inside. It was less glorious, to be sure, but something about it appealed to me nonetheless.

"I think it…" I started, fumbling for the words.

"Quaint," Amrothos finished and Erchirion snorted. I shot them both fierce looks.

"We are here for a funeral," I said. "Give Théoden King the respect he deserves."

"What's going on?" Father asked. He drew close to us and my brother looked away, slightly ashamed.

"Amrothos is being a bit judgmental," I said quietly. My father frowned but before he could say anything in return, the crowed moved towards the city and we were swept up in it. Finding ourselves behind the King and Queen of Gondor, Amrothos groaned a bit. Introductions. Of course.

I glanced towards the crowd of men and Éowyn. Several were older looking, while some were perhaps as old as Erchirion and Éomer. Advisors, I was sure. I saw no young ladies of my age, and breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"An honor to see you once again," my father said, bowing before Éowyn and her brother, who now stood next to her. Éowyn curtsyed.

"And you, my lord. I am grateful you brought your family with you." She seemed happier, and sweeter, than she had been in the Houses. There was, however, a lingering sadness in her gaze that not even Faramir's love could move. Faramir stood to the side, smiling as his family was introduced. I glanced at the look on his face, then hardly was aware when Éowyn stood before me.

"It is good to see you again, Lothíriel," Éowyn said eagerly. I smiled and curtsyed before her.

"And you as well, Éowyn," I replied. As I stood, I saw a glance pass between Éomer and his sister, and her eyes, which had been many times more warm and welcoming than I had remembered, took on a different gaze. It was as if she was evaluating me under completely new circumstances.

I wondered how much Éomer had confided in his sister. I knew he wrote her letters often – I had stumbled on the fact several times during the trip. But…

Words were exchanged, pleasantries and greetings, and the party swept into the hall. Dark wood and gold filigree and horses everywhere; it was every bit the royal home of the horse lords that I thought it would be. But there was not time for regarding the finery. There was food, and then we would begin to mourn. For now, the casket followed us into a place of state in the hall.

That night, after dinner I begged leave to settle into my room. I was tired, and the thought of sleeping in a room with a roof over my head was very appealing.

Since the Golden Hall was not large, I was sharing a bed and room with Éowyn. But she was not there when I entered. The only occupant was a lady's maid of Edoras, who was turning down the bedcovers. She quickly finished her chore and left, casting a backwards glance at me as she did. I wondered for a moment what they thought of me here – was I pretty or ugly? They could not fully judge my character; they could only judge my face. I sighed.

I took in the room. Few decorations – my trunk might have been the most ornate object in the room, as well as the largest. My room at home was full of trinkets from my cousins' travels, and from my brothers and my own adventures. Even though I didn't know the causes of her sadness, something in the starkness of the room offered me silent answers.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Éowyn entered. I stiffened. I hadn't had much interaction with my cousin's betrothed since my ill-fated ventures into the Houses of Healing. I had seen her at several functions when Elessar had been crowned and she had even stayed near us for those two weeks, but my energy was not focused on making female friends as much as it was centered on Éomer. Perhaps I had been at fault, but she either spent her time with her brother or Faramir, or seemed so unapproachable it was impossible to even try talking to her.

And now we were to share the same quarters for my stay in Edoras.

"Hello," I said. I grasped for something in my trunk. "I was just evaluating the state of my clothes. We ran into a rainstorm, but it doesn't seem like anything is ruined."

Éowyn nodded. "Faramir said that a rainstorm held you up." Her eyes seemed to study me and the way I moved.

"Just for a day," I replied. I felt nervous under her gaze. "I heard we made good time…as best we could…"

"Yes." She paused again and looked down, away from me then back towards the bed we would be sharing.

"I'm a heavy sleeper," I said softly, "and I don't snore. Badly. But my brothers are terrible liars so they could be wrong."

Éowyn laughed, and when she smiled I suddenly saw the brightness that Faramir had seen. "I am a heavy sleeper as well, but I'm not worried." She paused again. "Faramir speaks highly of you. I would say that you are his favorite cousin."

I smiled at the remark. I felt honored Faramir spoke of me in correspondence to Éowyn. "People remark we are very much alike. Both he and his brother meant much to me." A stab of grief hit my stomach but I pushed it back with the rest of it. Not now, not today.

"Lothíriel," Éowyn said, stepping forward. "I would very much like to get to know you better. You mean a great deal to Faramir…and my brother."

Suddenly, the warmth she showed me earlier made sense. Éomer must have spoken with her –

"Thank you, and I would like to get to know you better as well," I told her. Éowyn smiled and turned towards my luggage.

"This is beautiful," she said as she ran her fingers over a silk shawl. I frowned. I only saw a light grey one, and I was sure I had a light blue one earlier today.

"What's wrong?" Éowyn asked.

"I thought I had two shawls," I said. "I wonder if I'm just confusing myself – the colors are similar –"

"Was it light blue?" Éowyn asked. When I nodded, she said, "I thought I saw it on the table in the hall. I can go get it –"

"No, I left it there – I will get it," I told her. I headed towards the door, and out to the hall. The hall was empty now, save for Théoden's casket which gave the room an eerie feel – and my scarf. It was on a table, and I hurriedly grabbed it and made my way back towards my room.

I felt a hand grab my wrist. I looked up and saw Éomer's face from an open door before being pulled in into a dimly-lit closet. A slit of a window overhead allowed some light in, bathing us in moonlight.

I looked at Éomer. He was leaning against the door, not facing me. Something about his posture seemed wrong. He was tense – too tense.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I can't do this," he said and I frowned. _Can't do this? Can't do…us?_

"I'm sorry?"

Finally Éomer turned to me, his dark eyes showing pain in their unfathomable depths. "The funeral. I can't do it." He paused, took a step forward. "I need you."

I took a step forward as well and found myself being pulled into Éomer's arms. I tucked my head into his neck and he held me tightly, almost desperately. As I stroked my hands up and down his back, I realized how every time I was in Éomer's arms, I felt safe. Secure. They felt like home.

"I needed this so badly," he whispered, drawing me tighter to him and dropping his head to lean against my shoulder. "I needed you." He clung to me like a man who was drowning clings to driftwood –- he clung to me like I was his salvation.

I said nothing but continued to hold him as fiercely as he held me. It was then I realized that maybe I needed him as much as he needed me. Maybe everything felt right in his arms because he was right. Being accepted as I was but it was more than that – it was the man who held me who was not afraid to be weak or strong, who was unafraid to lay himself so bare before me. He made me able to shed my outer defenses as well.

"It will all be over soon," I said, unsure if I was even saying the right words. Éomer nodded.

"I know," he said. He let go. "I know. But I don't…"

"You're lucky you found me," I said.

"Actually…I had Éowyn move your scarf so that I could come find you," he said with a grin. He leaned down and kissed me lightly, and I found it easy to feign displeasure.

"You sought to trick me," I said and Éomer lowered a hand to my waist. He moved it to the small of my back and rubbed circles on it gently.

"Perhaps," he said.

"You were upset a moment ago," I teased him, playfully tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. My hand came to rest on his shoulder. He smiled.

"You have this strange power that lets me change my emotions quickly," he said huskily. He pulled me closer, and his lips met mine. He kissed me softly, slowly, and for a moment the world melted away and there was only the two of us, here, now, breathing each other in with kisses. There was something behind the kisses, something I could not explain and did not understand, but it excited me and scared me all the same.

I ended the kiss and looked up at Éomer. "I think it best I retire for the night," I said a bit regretfully. Éomer nodded, and drew me into an embrace once more.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?" I replied.

"For being you," he said seriously, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I smiled, and made my way past him and out the door.

As I returned to my room, feeling a bit giddy like I did every time Éomer kissed me, a hand grabbed my wrist and I was face to face with Amrothos.

"Where did you go?" he asked angrily. I frowned.

"Nowhere – what is wrong?" I asked, my heart beating in my chest. Why was he looking for me? What was wrong?

"I saw you leave that closet," he said. "Why were you there?"

"Looking for my shawl," I said as I held the fabric up. "What's wrong? What are you accusing me of?" _Looking for a shawl in a closet? Lothíriel, you can lie much better…_

"Sneaking around with men," Amrothos said quietly.

"What?"

"Erchirion is convinced you have a lover of some sort, which is why you won't take Kel into 'proper consideration'."

I groaned, upset that Erchirion was so concerned with my love life.

"What grounds does he have to make these accusations?"

"He claims he saw you with a man one night – sneaking out of camp."

My blood ran cold for a moment, wondering what Erchirion thought he saw. As much as I cared for Éomer…I could not let it be known he was sneaking around with me. I did not care for my reputation, only his.

"He told Father." Amrothos paused. "Lothíriel…I just want to hear from your mouth what you are doing so I may best cover the truth for Father," Amrothos said.

"You would lie for me?"

"If the reason is good enough."

I took a deep breath. I would be betraying confidence, it seemed – but then, Éomer had Elfhelm helping him…another ally would work.

"Lothíriel," Amrothos said insistently, "who is the man that makes you seem so happy all the time? The one you hide from us."

I took another deep breath. "It is Éomer."

"Lothíriel!" The smile on my brother's face surprised me.

"It's not what you think. We talk. A great deal. We've grown close." I paused. "I am still the maiden I always was."

"I do not doubt that, for I have seen the way Éomer looks at you and thought I was seeing things." Amrothos smiled more. "And what's more, even though Father has always promised to let you marry whoever you wish, I can tell he's very pleased at your friendship with Éomer."

"Amrothos, I cannot think of marriage," I said with a sigh. "Because that is the first thing everyone thinks of."

"And there's something wrong with that?"

"Everything is wrong with that! Everything!" I choked out. My thoughts were too confusing even for Mithrandir to attempt to decipher.

Even though I was growing closer to Éomer every day and realizing everything felt so right – even though I contemplated a future, it was only a dream. I could hope, but I could not believe in that hope. I knew what was required of royalty, and I knew my father's love for me made my own freedom an abnormality. I could not expect everyone to have the freedom to marry for love –- I was not foolish enough to believe that Faramir's marriage to Éowyn had no political gain.

"Lothíriel…" Amrothos said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder, "why can't you just let things happen as they do? Just trust in faith once? Not everything has to be logical and thought out."

A lump rose to my throat. Should I even articulate my fears to my brother? Should I even try to convey to him how frightened I was? How I expected to lose Éomer? How I expected to end up married to Kel in the end, married to a man who would take me for face value alone?

I swallowed. No, not tonight. They were silly fears, and it was far too late.

"I'm going to bed, love," I said. I brushed a kiss against his cheek. "Sleep well."

* * *

They buried Théoden King on a sunny day. After three days of mourning, three days of preparing the body – and the city, I thought – they laid him to rest with his son and his fathers. 

We gathered outside of Edoras, where the burial mounds were. The second line of kings had ended, and I felt sadness at this thought. I wondered if Éomer was intimidated by this – knowing he started a new line of kings. As I glanced towards him, dressed in funeral finery by the grave, I knew he had more important things to think about. He looked so sad it took all my resolve to not run over and hold him while he cried on my shoulder.

As the Rohirrim read their funeral rites, my thoughts drifted to Boromir, my brave and strong cousin who had fallen before his time. He would never see Faramir happy with Éowyn. He would never see his nieces and nephews, much less his own children.

I stood between Faramir and my father, and I glanced at my cousin. His expression was that of stone, but his eyes were wet. Looking at Éomer, I noticed a similar expression on his face.

I felt Faramir's hand take mine, and I closed my eyes. I remembered the heat of the fever, my fear that I would lose him. I remembered how protective he had been of my brothers and I – how protective both he and Boromir had been.

Boromir. My thoughts drifted back to him, my oldest cousin now lost.

Éowyn began a song, a sad and mournful one, and my heart cried out. We would not – could not – do this for Boromir.

I felt the slick tears fall down my face, burning my skin. Faramir's hand gripped mine tighter, and I could not stop the tears any longer. Before I knew it, Faramir had embraced me and I was sobbing. I clutched helplessly at his tunic, ashamed but unable to stop the torrent of tears that threatened to overtake me. If I did not cry, I would suffocate with pain.

As Faramir held me tighter and rested his head against mine, I felt a motion in his shoulders and knew he, too, was sobbing. It dawned on me, slowly, that witnesses might think I was crying for Théoden , and I felt guilty. I pulled away from Faramir, and looked up into grey eyes that matched my own.

"He wouldn't want us to be sad," my cousin said softly. Behind him, I saw my father. His hand rested on Faramir's shoulder, and I felt a hand on my waist. Soon Erchirion and Amrothos were near me.

Éowyn's song continued, unaffected. I glanced at my father and saw unshed tears in his eyes. He struggled to smile.

I looked at Éomer, feeling embarrassed for making a spectacle but I realized he had not noticed. His own tears were shedding freely now. How good it felt to mourn, I thought. How good it felt to feel.

* * *

There was a celebration that night, where Éowyn and Faramir became properly trothplighted. The look on my dear cousin's face was pure joy, and for a moment I wondered if I would ever feel that – knowing I would spend my life pledged to the one I loved. But the feeling departed as fast as it came, leaving me uneasy.

I wandered around the hall, dancing and talking with various men and women of Rohan, people who had gawked at me earlier and now had the courage to approach the Lady Lothíriel now that they had something to drink. Women asked me about my clothes, in awe over my silken gowns. They asked me about Gondor, about Dol Amroth, about the Queen and the elves. I was grateful that no rumors had made their way to Edoras about my own family's elven lineage, so I answered the best I could.

As the night went on, the drinking became more furious and the voices carried further and louder and I wondered, for a moment, if this was how the Rohirrim mourned. None of the funerals I had ever been to were like this – not that this was bad. People seemed to be celebrating life, not death.

"You look concerned," a voice said to me. I turned to see Elessar, with a tankard in his hand, beside me.

"I will admit that this method of mourning surprises me," I said.

"Theoden would have wanted it this way – celebrate the future and honor the past," he told me. I nodded.

"I think this far superior to the way we mourn in Gondor," I said. He laughed.

"I agree. Go – be merry. Celebrate your cousin's bethrothal!" Elessar said, smiling. I smiled as well.

I missed Éomer, and made my way over to a table later where he sat with several men. Mugs were before them, and they all laughed and called my name when I arrived.

"What is this?" I asked.

"A competition," Éomer said, "where the best man wins." He slammed his tankard down and I could tell he was a little intoxicated at the moment.

"A drinking game?" I asked. The men around the table nodded.

"And what of the winner? Do they receive a prize?"

"The ability to walk away knowing they drank more than other men-" one man said.

"-and a headache the next morn," Éomer added.

"Perhaps I should reward the winner with a kiss?" I asked. The table clamored and I glanced at Éomer. I saw something for a moment – jealousy, perhaps, or something else.

"I see that is the consensus at this table," Éomer said. He laughed. "So, my lady, you promise to reward whoever wins with a kiss?"

"I promise," I said. The men around me roared in amusement again and I wondered if perhaps I should not have done such. In Dol Amroth, I would tease the men and get them involved in contests of this sort, always kissing them on the cheek in reward. Here…it was different.

_Very different._

"May the best man win!" one of the man shouted. The five men in the contest lifted their steins in salute, and then it began. They drank quickly and fiercely – warriors in all things, it seemed.

"What's going on?" Amrothos asked, coming up behind me.

"A drinking contest – I'm going to kiss the winner," I told him.

"Let's hope Éomer is the winner else he'll be pretty upset," he whispered back. I nodded.

The contest dragged on as men slumped over or fell down. Finally, it ended.

"The winner!" a man called out, and Éomer's back was slapped many times. Someone pushed me into Éomer's lap, and he caught me. His hazel eyes looked up at me and I felt the familiar tremor of desire that shot through me every time I was around him.

"Well now, my lord," I said softly. "I believe I owe you a kiss."

"I believe you do," he replied. Taking a deep breath, I leaned down and placed the most chaste kiss I could manage on his lips. Éomer honored that, and when I broke the kiss, I gently tucked a stray hair behind his ear. Éomer smiled at me.

And Éomer promptly fell forward onto the table.

That caused the table to get up and run to the aid of their king. Since I was sitting on his lap, his entire upper body was in _my_ lap and I brushed the hair away from his face.

"He's passed out – we need to get him to his room," I said to no one.

"Yes, my lady," someone replied and I looked up to see Elfhelm and Amrothos standing next to each other.

"Do something!" I said helplessly. "I certainly can't lift him."

The men hoisted Éomer's arms over their shoulders, and took him to his room. I was a bit grateful that everyone else was too busy with their own matters to pay attention. In fact, I was very relieved. As much as I liked to pretend protocol didn't matter, it was always on my mind and even though we were merely escorting Éomer to his chambers, I worried about rumors.

The men deposited him on his bed rather unceremoniously, removed his shoes and the fine embroidered tunic he was wearing, leaving him in shirtsleeves and pants. I looked around for a servant.

"We'll need cold water and a basin, and probably a pail," I muttered to no one. A group of men who had followed now wandered out of the room, leaving Elfhelm and Amrothos. Both men looked like they had drunk too much to handle this situation. I sighed.

"I will stay," I told Elfhelm. It hadn't really been a question – I needed to stay. The marshal frowned.

"It would be too much to ask –"

"I'm the one that got him into this," I said softly. "I should get him out."

Elfhelm nodded slowly. "I will leave the King's door open, and alert the servants to follow you as you are the only trained healer available at the moment."

"If that is what you wish. I do not feel this will compromise me, as my time in the Houses of Healing are well known to most."

Amrothos tottered slightly. "You sure you want to handle this, Lote?"

"I'm the only one sober enough in this household," I said. "Besides, he is my friend. It's not like this is indecent. I will only stay until he's purged his stomach."

Amrothos nodded. "I think Faramir is still up. I can go find him-"

I grabbed his hand. "No. This is his night. Go find yourself a place to sleep. I'll be fine – I'll leave the door open, if you're worried about rumors-"

"I'm not worried about rumors. I just wanted to make sure-"

I kissed Amrothos' cheek. "Go to sleep. I can handle this."

I didn't tell Amrothos that I had been drinking as well, and it was only my feelings for Éomer that kept me at his bedside. I knew the other men cared as well, but they were in as bad a shape as he was, and could not pay attention to his situation.

I walked over to Éomer's bedside. They had deposited him haphazardly, and I drew a fur over him to protect him from chills. There was a knock on the door.

"My lady," a servant said, "do you need anything?"

"I'll need a basin of water, and a pitcher as well, a wet rag, and a bucket," I told the young girl. "And a goblet. Can you get me that as quickly as possible?"

"Yes, my lady," she replied, curtsying clumsily. Everyone in this hall seemed to be intoxicated.

I found a chair across the room and I pulled it to Éomer's bedside. Gently, I brushed a lock of hair off his face. I felt horrible – if I had never made a kiss the prize, he would not have drunk so much. I knew he was going to try to win a kiss, for I knew that all men feel like the women they care about are their property. It wasn't right for me to do that. I should not have been so free with my kisses. But how often had I done this in Dol Amroth? Old habits died hard.

I took a moment to survey my surroundings. The king's chamber was large, the bed the most impressive one I had ever seen. It was hand-carved and oak, decorated with gold filigree and horse carvings. It was exquisite and massive, especially the bed itself. Éomer only took up a small portion of the bed – I guessed you could easily fit five men in it. The bed curtains were drawn back, as it was summer and nice out, and there was no need of them.

I looked for a moment, and wondered what it would be like to call this room home. To sleep in this bed…I shook my head and glanced at Éomer. I honestly would not mind waking up next to him every morning. But I should not think like that. It was the wine was affecting me.

The servants arrived with a bucket just as Éomer roused from his drunken stupor and vomited into it. I closed my eyes to block out the sight but the sound didn't make me more comfortable. I kept reminding myself I had seen far worse sights. I held his hand. He then passed out again, and I was left to my own thoughts. The chair was large enough that I could curl up into it – it was a King's chair, fitting a King's bedroom. It was the perfect complement to the enormous bed, so I tucked my feet under me and leaned against the cushioned back.

Now that we were in Rohan, I hardly would be able to see him. I wanted more than anything else the ability to spend time with him. I had begun to wonder if what I was feeling was love. Faramir did say it was different for everyone, and I had begun to think about what it would be like if Éomer asked for my hand in marriage. Three short weeks had caused my head to be filled with crazy ideas.

The man before me stirred once again, and when he opened his eyes he seemed to recognize me this time.

"Lothíriel," he said.

"Éomer," I replied. I uncurled my body and leaned closer to him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "What am I doing here?"

"Do you remember anything?" I asked. He smiled.

"I remember having to be good when I kissed you," he said with a mischievous grin.

"And then you passed out on the table," I told him. "You are going to have a most awful headache tomorrow."

"I expect that much," he said. "Um – Lothíriel?"

"What?" I asked. Then, catching the look on his face, I handed him the bucket and walked towards the window.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked softly after the retching sounds ceased. I turned to see the servants carrying away the bucket and Éomer sitting up in bed.

"What?" I asked.

"The view from that window," he said. "I like it. A lot. It's probably the best part about being king."

I laughed and returned to his bedside. "You should lay down – you will be feeling this tomorrow," I said, sitting down again.

"I know," Éomer said.

"Water?" I asked. I held out the cup to him, and he took it from me.

"This is my fault," I said quietly.

"No, I probably would have ended up in some sort of stupor on my own," Éomer said. "I have my honor to keep as King and all. But the thought of another man kissing you would have bothered me more."

I smiled. "Proprietary, aren't we?" I said. Éomer laughed.

"I'll admit, I like to think of you as my own," he said, reaching a hand out to stroke my face.

"And I will admit I wouldn't mind being yours," I said. I slammed my hand over my mouth. "I am sorry."

Éomer laughed. "I see I am not the only one who has been drinking."

"No…not the only one," I said, laughing as well. "But you're worse off than me. Rest. You will be fine in the morning."

"Mayhaps," Éomer replied. He took another drink, only to have the contents of the goblet spill all over his shirt. He laughed, and placed the goblet on a nearby table. Before I had a chance to turn away, he pulled his shirt over his head and threw the wet article on the floor.

It was completely different viewing a half-naked man when you had feelings for him.

My eyes were unable to move away from his chest, as I admired the broad shoulders and muscular arms that I had seen before from a new perspective. Feeling heat rise to my cheeks, I looked away and started to walk towards the window again, desperate for cool air.

"Something wrong?" Éomer asked, and I turned to see him looking at me, fire in his eyes spreading to my entire body.

"I should be going. You will do best if you sleep now," I said, deciding that there were definitely certain times when protocol needed to be obeyed. Now was definitely such a time.

Éomer caught me as I went towards the door. He pulled me closer to him, within arm's length.

"You act like something's wrong," he said softly.

"You're lacking an article of clothing," I replied.

"I have lacked an article of clothing before," he said in a serious tone.

"This is much different."

And then, the door slammed shut. It had to have been a draft, but my attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere.

Before I knew it, I was in Éomer's arms and he was kissing me with a passion I had not experienced before. And I responded, wrapping my arms around his neck and his lips left mine and traveled towards my neck. I sighed, heat coursing through my veins as I abandoned all thought to Éomer's touch. I ran my hands over his bare back and thought that maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

Suddenly he lost his balance – probably due to my added weight – and wobbled, then pitched forward onto the bed. I hit the mattress first, Éomer tumbling onto me and bracing himself up with his arms. He laughed and it vibrated through my body and suddenly everything struck me hard. The desire I felt and I knew Éomer felt slammed into me and I realized I was on a bed and what typically happened between men and women on a bed and how much I was wanting, _desiring_ to let go and continue the pleasure that struck me deep inside and I wanted so badly to keep feeling this, all of this with the man I loved -

_Loved?_

I pushed at Éomer, trying hard to get out from underneath him. "You're crushing me," I protested, my hands shaking. I did not know what was going on, I didn't know whether it was the fear of letting desire take over or the fear of something greater than desire, something I hurriedly tried pushed away from my mind as Éomer moved and I rolled out from under him.

"You need to go to sleep," I said firmly as I stood, though every part of me was shaking including my voice.

"Lothíriel?" Éomer said questioningly. I realized that he noticed something was wrong and if I left now he would follow me and I did not want to talk. I just wanted to be alone.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep," I said. "Go to sleep, please."

Éomer said nothing more, merely crawling up his bed and I tried to fight down the fear and pain from a split moment where I wondered if he would have continued further. And then he spoke.

"I didn't mean to fall on the bed," he said softly, crawling under the covers. Thankfully, he seemed too drunk and the bed too comfortable to notice any more of my distress, so I calmly pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

"I know," I said and I brushed a kiss on his forehead. "Sleep. I will stay here until morning."

With a contented sigh, Éomer closed his eyes and I retreated to my chair, thoughts in a whirl.

When I noticed he was asleep, I slipped out of the room into the now-silent hall, grabbing several blankets. Few revelers remained here, sleeping on the floor – it looked as if most found a way to a comfortable bed. I thought about my own bed I should be sleeping in, but realized I did not know what time it was, nor did I want to wake Éowyn. I would sleep out here tonight.

I found a reasonably dry table-top, and was grateful for the blankets. I balled it up underneath my head, and wrapped the blanket around myself.

* * *

"You left." 

I slowly opened my eyes, not sure exactly who was speaking to me and why I was not in my bed. When I saw the familiar pair of dark eyes staring at me, all the events of the night before came back with unsettling clarity. I was sleeping on a table in the Golden Hall because I was frightened by intense feelings I was having in regards to a certain king who was too foolish to not drink himself into unconsciousness in order to win a kiss from me.

I propped myself up on my elbow, wincing slightly at the throbbing inside my head.

"Lothíriel?"

I met the eyes again, knowing I could not lie to Éomer even if I wanted to. I had to be honest – if this was something like love, I couldn't lie. I bit my lip.

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you sleeping out here? Why did you not remain on the chair?" Éomer asked. He looked…ashamed. Worried.

"I was frightened," I said quietly, my eyes darting to the far corners of the hall. Was anyone else up?

"Will you forgive me?" he asked suddenly. I frowned.

"What?"

"Forgive me. I didn't mean for anything to get…frightening." He sighed and looked down at the floor. With my free hand I reached out to run my fingers through his hair.

"I know," I replied.

"I'd place the blame squarely on the drink, but I don't think it was all the drink's fault," Éomer said, raising his eyes to meet mine and the look I received sent a shiver through my body. The feeling I had last night – desiring him, wanting to continue feeling so wonderful – returned and I looked away. It was not wrong to feel as I did, but it was not completely right. I was a princess of Gondor, Lady of Dol Amroth – lust should not be an emotion I felt.

But was it lust? Perhaps there was something that connected love and lust. I had seen the way that Elessar looked at Arwen when they thought I was not looking, and it almost mirrored Éomer's look now. Perhaps there was something to all this, something that involved caring so deeply for one person that care brought about desire, and desire brought about lust…

I needed to stop thinking so much.

"I'm sorry if I'm being too forward," Éomer said sincerely. He took a deep breath. "I…I'm going to ask my council of advisors for permission to court you today. If you'll let me."

The shock of his statement made my jaw drop. To ask permission for a courtship was merely a formality before betrothal. But…

"Éomer, you didn't dishonor me, I don't see-" I stammered, trying to comprehend all of this. _Get a grip on yourself, woman! _I thought. It was exciting and overwhelming at the same time and I was babbling.

"It's not that." He frowned. "Do you not want me to…" I saw hurt in his eyes and quickly shook my head.

"No – no. In fact, I like the idea very much. But at the moment I'm a little tired," I said quietly. "I'm not thinking right. I guess it's…" I stopped.

"You guess it's what?" Éomer asked. His posture seemed to become defensive – like he could take any blow I dealt him with my words.

"It's too wonderful to even comprehend this early in the morning," I said finally. Because it was. I had tried so hard to suffocate whatever hope I had that Éomer would still want to be with me after this journey, that it would be possible for what we felt to be considered love, that this surprised me and made me happy.

Éomer smiled and leaned forward, brushing a light kiss against my lips. "Wonderful," he said softly.

* * *

_Author's Notes the Second: When the funeral procession reached Edoras, there were three days of mourning and preparing for the funeral before the funeral - hence the quick 'jump' from the arrival to Edoras and the funeral. The trothplighting was the night of the funeral._


	26. Oh Love

**_Author's Note: Long time, no update. I apologize for the lag. I was busy trying to finish up college and do a multitude of other things and didn't have time to sleep, let alone write! But college is done, and now it's time to update. So I hope you forgive me and enjoy the chapter! Reviews are most welcome._**

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Chapter 22: Oh, Love _(Éomer POV)_ **

I knew, without a doubt, that I loved her.

I loved the princess who would stand tall at formal occasions, who had the strength of will to accept challenges and even lived for them. I loved the princess whose quick mind and bright eyes made each word she spoke seem intelligent, thoughtful, and true. I loved the woman who found joy in learning new things, be it translations of ancient prose or ways to calm a horse. I loved the woman who did not seem to be afraid of showing her true self to me – inquisitive, passionate, caring, kind, amazing. I loved her completely, and I knew in my heart that I could not live without her.

I knew I wanted to wake up to find her lying next to me, to start every day looking into those grey eyes and knowing regardless of how long the day was, I would return to her side at night and be at peace.

I loved her. And I knew I wanted her to be my wife, and my queen. But would she accept whatever proposal I offered her?

She had blushed when I told her I planned to tell my advisors that I wanted to court her. I could only imagine her reaction to the words "I love you" and it made me giddy.

"You seem distracted," I heard a voice say behind me. I was quickly drawn out of my daydreams to find Imrahil, my beloved's father, in front of me. I felt a bit embarrassed that I had been thinking about his daughter.

"I have an important meeting with my council soon," I replied. Imrahil nodded and I noticed the similarities between father and daughter, most notably the same eyes and hair that their relatives from Minas Tirith also seemed to share.

"I gathered it was something important, as I've called to you several times and not received a reply," he said, smiling.

"Very important," I added.

"You have done well so far, I see," Imrahil said. "I could tell when we first met that you were both a great warrior and a great leader."

"I think that my skills as a leader are nowhere near as sharp as my other skills," I told him. "Your daughter has contributed greatly to my improvement." I paused, realizing how open-ended that seemed. "As a leader."

"Indeed, were Lothíriel born a man, what a force she would have been. But I do not think that her sex has hindered her at all. She has her own attributes that make her worthy indeed."

I wondered whether I should reveal my plans to her father, so that I could receive his permission first, when a newcomer spoke before me.

"I see you are singing my virtues to any eligible man again, Father," Lothíriel said, sweeping in and giving her father a small kiss on his cheek. Imrahil laughed.

"Singing the virtues of a most virtuous woman can hardly be considered a crime," he replied. Lothíriel smiled.

"Be careful, Father; we should not put ideas in the King's head," she said, flashing a smile at me. My mouth went dry and I felt heat rise to my cheeks but luckily, Imrahil turned his attention to this daughter.

"And what are your plans for the day?" he asked. Lothíriel, dressed in white linen much the style of Éowyn, was holding a basket.

"The elves wish to spend some time outside – it is such a lovely day! – and I shall join the Queen," she told him. "Will you join us?"

"I fear not, as your brother has sent me several dispatches of the most urgent manner to which I must respond. In fact, I shall take my leave now and hope to see you again before the banquet tonight." Imrahil bowed to me. "Éomer." He kissed Lothíriel on the cheek. "Lothíriel."

"And you, Éomer? Will you not join us?" Arwen said, approaching our small party.

"I have a meeting with my council but, if it finishes early, I shall try my best to spend some time outside. Being King certainly restricts my freedom."

"Estel stuffers the same fate," Arwen said sympathetically. "I hope you will be able to join us."

"Do you need any provisions?" I asked. Lothíriel shook her head.

"Éowyn took care of everything. We have managed to pry her away from her beloved for a time to enjoy the fresh air," she said. "But we should not tarry. I hope your work does not drag on so that you may have some freedom."

"I hope so too," I said, and bowed to the ladies as they departed. The meeting was all the more reason to stand my ground at council today.

* * *

"There's something I'd like to discuss with you," I said. I was trying as hard as I could to control my excitement, but it was threatening to burst. "I have decided that I would like to court the Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth." 

Half the table smiled. The other half frowned. My heart sank. No one spoke.

"Does this not make anyone happy?" I asked desperately, feeling my joy fade away as something else replaced it. It wasn't fear, it wasn't sadness – it was nervousness.

"My Lord." An advisor rose from the far end of the table. His name was Dygol, and he was from the Westfold. His kin had ridden with Eorl to Gondor. He had been an advisor to Theoden, and a rather quiet one at that.

"Councilor Dygol – you wish to share something?" I said, sitting. He nodded.

"I can see quite plainly that the young princess of Dol Amroth is quite the lady," he said. "She is beautiful, and stories that float around Edoras tell of her immense strength in the face of challenges, as well as her unconventional role at her father's court."

I felt my temper flair up as he characterized Lothíriel's role as unconventional , but I merely nodded. He was right – it was a rather special case.

"This lady is capable, and would be a very good queen – were it not for the troubles that Rohan has gone through."

"What?" I asked, surprised.

"My Lord, if I may continue?" Dygol asked. I nodded, unsure of what direction this was going to take.

"Rohan has been devastated by war, brought to this land by our supposed ally Saruman, and by an incredible loss of life here and in Gondor. In addition, for the past several years of your uncle's reign, there has been unrest in various parts of both the Westfold as well as the Eastfold."

"Yes," I said. I glanced at Eothain, and saw that I should not speak.

"Perhaps, instead of strengthening an alliance to Gondor that will already become strong with your sister's marriage, you should look to your own land, and find a suitable partner here."

"I understand what you're saying, Councilor," I said, "but I don't necessarily agree with it. Are you telling me that you wish to arrange a marriage, as opposed to having me pick my own bride?"

An older advisor, one who served with Théoden and Thengel, spoke. "Sometimes, Éomer, the responsibilities of a king take precedence over his own desires."

I was shocked. Instead of approving the bride I had chosen for myself – because I had to face it, I was planning on marrying her – they decided they would interfere. I knew they wanted me married…but had they been planning this all along?

"Have you found a suitable woman already?"

"Yes. We will introduce her to you tonight."

"I see." My jaw was tight, my mind racing. "Is there any more business to discuss? If not, I shall take my leave."

With business concluded, I left the chamber and made my way to the stables as fast as possible. Behind me, Elfhelm cried out.

"Éomer! Where are you headed?"

"I need to go for a ride," I called over my shoulder. Soon, Firefoot was ready and the six of us – my two friends and their horses – were riding across the plains.

We stopped at a small stream west of Edoras, and they allowed me to pace in silence, digesting my thoughts. What had gone wrong? I knew the reasons, but was I doing something wrong?

I sighed. "Maybe I was wrong."

"What?" Eothain and Elfhelm said simultaneously.

"Maybe I should consider this girl, since my advisors seem to think-"

"Éomer. Stop. Do not continue. Do you realize what you're saying?" Elfhelm said forcefully. "You are considering listening to someone's advice for once."

"We maybe they are right!" I snapped. I felt so conflicted.

"Do you think they are right?" Eothain asked. "In your heart, do you feel that duty to your country means always listening to a gaggle of old men?"

I sighed. "I don't know."

"First, I have to ask where this sudden desire to court Lothíriel comes from," Elfhelm said. "I thought you decided there would be no courtship."

"That was before I kissed her. Now that I've kissed her many times, I…" I struggled to tell my friends what I was thinking. There were primal reasons for my decision – desire, passion – but also love. Love that I felt strongly every time I was near Lothíriel. Love, the most overwhelming feeling of completion, found in the form of Lothíriel.

Love that my advisors were asking me to push away.

"Look," Elfhelm said, "I understand where they are coming from. The desire to have you marry this girl is strong and it makes sense. Rohan has been so restless for so long, perhaps the marriage would be suitable. But then, you would have to watch Lothíriel return to Dol Amroth, and marry someone else. Some nobleman or son of privilege, or a solider. You would attend functions in Gondor and see her on the arm of some other man."

"Someone like Kel," I said. I remembered how I felt the one time I saw him dancing with her and gritted my teeth. "You make me sound so possessive."

I looked up and saw the party of elves near a patch of trees. They lounged in the shade, and I could only hear the distant murmur of voices. I saw the figure of Lothíriel, her white dress shining like a beacon in the midday sun, and I sighed.

"Honestly, though, Éomer – I wouldn't want to see the woman I love married to another man," Eothain said.

"If you could find a woman to have you," Elfhelm quipped. "I don't mean to make it sound possessive…I'm just making a point. You know you couldn't stand to let her go."

It was true. Letting go of Lothíriel, letting her marry someone else, would be the hardest thing I could ever do. I was so attuned to her that I could not imagine being without her. Which meant that I could not marry another, because I could not stand someone other than her.

"You're right," I said. "I cannot lose her."

"Of course he's right!" Eothain said. "She's by far the most beautiful woman in Gondor – it would be a shame. I have to say, Éomer, you did choose wisely."

I laughed. "It's more than her looks that draw me to her, my friend. She's…amazing. I have never felt the way I do around her. And I will not lose her. I am King, right? Doesn't being King mean that I'm allowed to make decisions I think best for the country?"

"It does," Elfhelm said.

"Then obviously I cannot marry anyone other than Lothíriel. Not only would she make a splendid queen but I would go insane without her. So for Rohan's sake…I think we have to fight, gentlemen."

"Fight? Us? How did we get involved?"

"You cannot allow me to buckle under the pressure they'll put on me."

"I swear to you, my King and Sovereign and my friend, that I will beat you upside your head if you do not keep your wits about you," Eothain said. Elfhelm nodded.

In the distance, the murmur picked up to shouts and we glanced over to see two riders on horses take off across the plain. Arwen and Lothíriel raced each other on their steeds, hair flying behind them in the wind and I realized neither woman had saddled their horses. Rarely did I ride bareback, and from the look on Eothain and Elfhelm's faces, the peculiarity of the situation had struck them as well.

"Perhaps it has something to do with elven blood," Elfhelm suggested, and we watched as Arwen took the lead. Lothíriel soon began to catch up and, in a burst of speed, passed Arwen. Looking closer, I determined that Lothíriel was steering her horse using her legs only – the mark of a rider with much skill and experience.

"Éomer, you need to marry this girl," Eothain said. "It's like she was born to be Queen of the Rohirrim."

I laughed, the riders doubled back and Lothíriel won the race. But as she dismounted, she fell to the ground. Instantly, I headed towards my horse – and to the picnicking party.

"Your Majesty!" Amrothos cried out as we drew near. "Did you see that race? My sister is quite the rider, though she's humble about it."

Lothíriel was standing - but leaning heavily on her brother - and sheepishly looked up at me. "I did not know we had observers beyond our party," she said. "That makes me even more embarrassed."

"I saw you fall," I said, and Lothíriel nodded.

"Over there – the ground has caved in. I managed to step right into it, and twist my foot. I should be fine," Lothíriel said, but there was a look of small discomfort in her face as she tried to put her weight down on the injured leg.

"I can look at it, if you would let me," I said. Lothíriel nodded.

"That might be a good idea. I wouldn't want to go running to the healers for nothing."

I dismounted, and awkwardly approached Lothíriel, conscious of those in the party observing this interlude. She daintily lifted her skirt up as I sank down to my knee. Fighting to keep heat from my cheeks, I took her foot into my hand to observe it and, thankfully, did not have to observe long.

"It looks as if it is swollen. We are returning to Edoras and can take you to the healer."

Lothíriel looked over at Amrothos briefly, and then nodded. "That might be best."

I mounted Firefoot again, and leaned down to help Lothíriel on as well. Soon I was cradling the princess in my arms as we rode to Edoras.

"This is a little ridiculous," she said softly, and I laughed. I pulled her closer and she sighed.

"I really hope it is not hurt too badly, because that would be a terrible inconvenience."

"I hope it is nothing as well, for whom else am I to dance with tonight?" I teased, then stopped when I realized there would be other ladies for me to dance with at the banquet.

"Your guards will find it suspect if you hold me so close," she whispered, and as we neared the gate I loosened my grip on the Princess.

Lothíriel was heavier than I would imagine for a girl of her stature, but not so heavy that it was impossible for me to carry her into the healer's quarters. The old woman – older than Thengel, my uncle used to joke – quickly whisked me back out again into the hallway.

Should I wait? Should I go?

"She's always been frightened of healers," Faramir said, approaching from just beyond my peripheral vision.

"She fell down dismounting," I told him. He nodded.

"I know. One of your marshal's told me. You were in a bit of a rush."

"Why is she frightened of healers? She worked as one in Minas Tirith," I asked him. Faramir shook his head.

"It's not the healers she's really afraid of – it's the injury. It's out of her control. Lothíriel, for all her carefree tendencies, doesn't like things to slip from her grasp. A broken leg, a cut – those are things she cannot help herself. It's a flaw in her character, but not one that diminishes her value."

I nodded, digesting what her cousin said. Lothíriel always appeared to be in control of herself, whether in the heat of a kiss or in the heat of a decision. Losing control would be difficult…unthinkable…

"I will wait for her. You probably have business to attend to," Faramir said. He sat on a bench nearby, and gave me a look that seemed to say Less chance of rumours starting should you leave now…

"I will you see later," I said as I took my leave. I could only hope that Lothíriel's leg was alright, to save me from whatever misery my advisors had cooked up.

* * *

Lothíriel was not well by the time of the banquet. 

"Sprained her ankle," Elfhelm told me. We stood in the hallway, awaiting the point where I was supposed to come into the hall and start the feasting.

"Great," I sighed.

"They found a girl." Elfhelm looked unhappy.

"They did, did they?" I replied, feeling my stomach drop.

"She looks vaguely familiar…like someone I've met before," my friend said as trumpets started to sound in the hall. I glanced at him before turning to exit.

The hall was filled with people and food was piled high on the tables. I saw smiling faces, and soon the feast was underway.

My eyes looked through the hall and settled on Lothíriel, leaning heavily on Amrothos. She held a goblet, like the rest of the crowd, and the silver of her dress made her eyes shine. I made sure not to linger too long, instead finding Dygol on the other side of the room, next to a woman.

She was small and slight with blonde hair the color of gold glinting in the light of the candles and dark blue eyes. She was fair, but nothing compared to Lothíriel.

I raised my goblet, and the feast began.

Her name was Nalyn, and she was from the Northern part of Rohan. And as I took her hand, I glanced up to find Lothíriel watching me intently from a seat at a nearby table. A look of pain, unrelated to her injury, passed through my love's eyes.

But it was only her eyes. Her face was the same impassive face that I had seen when I first met her, but had not seen since. It reminded me of a wall, guarding its mistress' precious heart from those who sought to destroy it.

I could not stop from cringing at the hurt on her face, and looked away.

"My lord? Are you alright?" The voice was soft but not melodic, and looking down at the face of the woman I danced with, I realized she was no different from any woman of Rohan.

When I looked over again, Lothíriel was gone.

I did not see her the rest of the evening.

I danced with the girl, and I danced with Éowyn and other ladies, but never with Lothíriel. She had disappeared after dinner, evaporated into thin air.

As the evening drew to a close, I found that I needed to escape the confines of the hall. I was unhappy, and I need a break.

I found a shrouded figure on the steps of Meduseld, looking out at the night sky. A shawl was wrapped around her shoulders and she sat, face upturned, trying to read something in the ageless stars.

"Why did you leave the celebration?" I asked.

"No reason," Lothíriel said. She did not hide her bitter tone.

I walked over to her, unsure of how I should act near her. The conversation this afternoon had upset me more than I would admit, and I was worried about what I should say. I could apologize, I could explain...I didn't know. I sank down onto a step near her.

"How is your leg?"

"It hurts, but wine dulls the pain," she said.

"How did you get out here?"

"I'm not totally incapacitated, Éomer," Lothíriel responded coldly.

We remained there in silence for a moment before I spoke again.

"You're very quiet tonight, Lothíriel," I said.

"I have a lot of things on my mind," she replied. There was another long moment of silence that dragged on an eternity, the two of us not looking at each other but instead into the distance, an arm length away.

"I heard there was a confrontation this afternoon with your advisors," she said.

"There was."

"Advisors are not worth the titles," she said contemptuously. She stood up, and reached for a staff I had not seen nearby. With the staff, she proceeded to hobble away from me. Had she heard?

"Lothíriel! Wait," I called out. She stopped but did not turn around to face me.

"They said something to you about me," she said softly. "That is why you were dancing with that girl."

"In my defense, you were unavailable."

"I know."

"Lothíriel," I said, approaching her only to find her turning around to face me. Tears threatened to flood out of her eyes.

I was going to lose her.

"I do not want your pity. I do not know what went on behind closed doors, but I will not be used to prove something to advisors. I understand that the duties of royalty often is more important than own desires." She paused and took a deep breath. "Do not tell me here, tonight, that you love me. Because I do not know if I can take that much heartbreak. I know you will have to marry for your kingdom, not for love, and I know that your advisors detest another marriage to Gondor. And I do not even have the right to assume that you love me, or wish to marry me. But if the thought crossed your mind – please. Keep it there."

"Lothíriel," I said, stepping forward, but she turned away. I angrily cursed the gods who placed us in these positions, the advisors who wanted to control my life, and myself. I had placed the person I loved in so much pain...how? "I know I am bound to my duties. But do not think that I do not care for you-"

"Éomer," she said pleadingly, her voice cracking as she struggled to maintain the façade of composure. "Please…"

I took her face in my hands, studying the grey eyes full of tears she would fight to keep inside, all because I might break her heart tonight. But I would not. I would not do anything to see her in agony.

"Do not worry about hurting me," she said softly. "I will not break."

"I will not hurt you and I will not give you up," I said, leaning in to kiss her. The moment our lips touched I felt her body move closer to mine and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her as close as possible. Her hands found my face, and her kisses were as urgent as mine. I wanted to remember everything – the feel of her in my arms, the taste of her kisses, the sound of her breathing. I wanted to remember everything so I could never forget.

She pulled away. "We have tonight," she said. "Then Eru knows what will happen."

"I will not let you go without a fight," I told her, meaning my words. She pressed her fingers against my lips.

"I know. You are a warrior. But not all fights are easily won," she said softly.

And so we stayed on the porch, not speaking, wrapped in each other's arms for hours until the sky turned purple with the approaching dawn and Lothíriel returned to her chamber. She had fallen asleep on my shoulder, her head tucked into the crook of my neck. Her fingers clutched at my shirt, as if she would lose me before she woke. As I breathed in the scent of her hair, I remembered the night in the moonlight all those months ago. I had desperately wanted to know the girl who stood before me, hot tears drying against my skin.

"I will not give you up," I whispered into Lothíriel's hair. I would be ready for whatever battle they would drag me into, but I would not lose her. I could not. I felt the surge of energy I felt whenever I was ready for battle. And battle it would be.


	27. Hold On, Love

_Author's Note: An update, lovely readers. Please read and review - it makes my day. I hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter 23: Hold On Love** _(Lothíriel POV)_

It had been several months since I had last seen Éomer , and our parting had been bittersweet. I was afraid I would never see him again, afraid that he would forget me, but the constant flow of letters from Rohan gave me hope. It was not as desolate a situation as I thought – surely his advisors did not loathe me so much as to not allow us to be wed.

I knew I loved him, and I suspected he loved me. And while I knew our love was fresh and green, I knew that it would grow strong should we end up together. But I always also afraid – I only assumed he wanted to marry me, and that he loved me. I could be wrong.

But I tried not to think about that. Éomer had said he wanted to court me, and everyone knew courtship led to betrothals which led to marriage; it was pointless to court me without having a clear intent behind it. Even if he only had fleeting feelings for me, he still wanted me as a wife.

Though I was prone to romantic thoughts, I was realistic: I was a good match for a king. I was a true lady of Gondor, descended from the men and women of Numenor. I was schooled in foreign and domestic policy, I was a good public speaker, and I could read and write in many of the tongues of Gondor. I could also embroider, knew how to run a household, and I knew I was comely enough to make any man proud they were married to me. True, I did not know Rohirric, as it was a spoken language and I had only picked up words and phrases from the Riders, but how many queens of old married without speaking their husband's tongue?

The only thing I could think of was that I was from Dol Amroth, a part of Gondor, and with Eowyn being married to Faramir, they might be wary of another Gondorian marriage. But was there a woman of Rohan with the skills and stature of me?

Oh Valar, I was starting to think like a royal advisor.

But who was this line of thinking trying to convince…myself, or them?

"You look busy," a male voice said from the doorway. I glanced over, leaving my thoughts behind. I smiled at my father, who leaned in the doorway of the library, studying his only daughter.

"I was, but I do not mind the interruption," I told him. I placed the book that had sat abandoned in my lap on the window seat. I had been trying to read some light-hearted poems from Belfalas, but my mind could not concentrate.

"I am sorry to interrupt – I have been very busy since we returned from Edoras, and I realized I have not spoken to you much." My father slowly entered the library, his grey eyes trying to read my mind. He always tried to read my mind. It could not have been easy for him, I thought, raising a young daughter after three sons. He always admitted that the minds of young ladies were very different from men.

Which is precisely why I tried to give him as little trouble as possible, offering him whatever requests he asked about my peace of mind, what I was reading, whatever he wanted to know. I did not want him to worry about me.

"How go the treaties?" I asked, turning away from the window to face him. "Do you need any help?"

"They are being completed with the greatest ease I have seen," he told me. "The absence of Darkness make the Corsairs less reluctant to come to a truce."

"Which is good for our trade, and that of Gondor," I said. My father smiled.

"Yes. Very good. And how are you, my daughter?" he asked.

"I have no treaties to read or worry over, leaving my days rather open," I said. "I am trying to read poetry, and correspond with my new relatives in Edoras."

"Your cousin is a very lucky man, to marry such a courageous woman."

"Indeed. If only my brothers would find such a bride as Éowyn."

My father laughed. Our interlude was cut short by a knock from the door, where a nervous young page stood.

"What is it?" I asked, feeling bad I did not know his name.

"A letter, my lady, from Edoras," the page said. My father looked at me.

"From Edoras? I have heard there has been a flurry of letters from their young king to you, Lothíriel…" my father said. "I saw it with my own eyes: he's quite taken by you."

"Father, I am only assisting him in planning his sister's wedding trunk," I said. I deliberately kept my tone lighthearted, hoping he would not infer anything.

"He is a good man, Lothíriel. I said I would not interfere with your marriage plans, but I cannot help but think Éomer should be considered as a possible suitor."

I walked towards the door, taking the letter from the page. "Thank you. And as for any possible suitors from Rohan, I believe those matters are not in our hands." I smiled, and my father laughed again.

"Very well. Send Éomer my best wishes, should the letter be from him and not his sister. I will take my leave," and with a bow, my father was gone.

I was eager to open the letter, but surprised that it was not Éomer 's handwriting that graced the envelope, nor was it his seal but a simpler one, of just a horse's head. I broke the seal and began to read.

_My Lady Lothíriel,_

_I write this letter on behalf of my King, whom I serve as his faithful subject and his trusted friend. I am sure what follows this will cause you great pain, pain which I do not wish to cause but have no choice in the matter._

_The Council at Edoras remains strong in their belief that the King must marry a woman of Rohan, for the good of the country and its people. Though he has fought valiantly on your behalf, it is now obvious to all of us that this fight will be futile. And so, the King has agreed to marry Nalyn, daughter of former Marshal Baldor of the Wold. Their wedding will take place in early Spring._

_I am truly sorry that it has come to this, my lady. Éomer himself is heartbroken, but hopes that you will forgive him as you, a member of the nobility, must understand that duty comes before all else._

_With sincerest hope in your future happiness,_

_Elfhelm_

_Marshal of the East-mark_

I folded up the letter carefully, and put it in the pocket of my dress.

A pain spread through my stomach, as if a knife had been plunged deep into my gut and twisted. I knew this would happen, didn't I? I knew the demands of nobility made it hard to follow one's heart. So why was I so upset?

_Because he said he would fight for me. Because if he loved me, then he wouldn't let me go. _

"Such lofty dreams, Lothíriel," I said bitterly. "You should know better by now."

I should have known that I would never win in the face of duty. That Éomer was honorable, and bound to his country, and would never let something as silly as love hurt Rohan's future.

And for that, I could not find fault with him. I knew the importance he placed on his country, and I admired him for his desire to work hard to erase the memories of a horrible past. I knew how he cared for his people. I knew that he was a great King, and would be even greater still.

But the phantom knife-wound in my stomach ached all the more.

What was I? Who was I to convince myself that I would be appropriate to rule beside him? He would marry a daughter of a former Marshal, a girl who was Rohirric through and through. She had to have some political savvy, to gain the admiration of the political advisors.

But who was I, then?

An abnormality, a Gondorian princess who should have been a prince, a girl with far too much knowledge of books to be of use to a place like Rohan – or to be attractive to Rohan's king. I was too intimidating, too foreign.

I started to run. I didn't know why, all I knew was that I needed to get away from everyone and everything as fast as possible. I hated myself, and the pain grew stronger.

I fell.

My ankle, weak from falling in Rohan, could not hold my weight as I frantically ran towards my chambers. It buckled and I fell, twisting my body and slamming my knee into the hard marble floors. My ankle throbbed with pain.

The sobbing came harder now, as I was unable to stand on my own two feet. My ankle betrayed me when I tried to rise, and laughed at my inadequacy.

"Lothíriel!" I heard a voice call out, and soon someone was next to me, their arms around me trying to hold me.

"What's wrong?" the voice asked, and through my tears I saw that it was Amrothos.

"My ankle –," I choked out between sobs. Amrothos smoothed my hair.

"I'm going to take you to your room, and we'll have someone look at it," he said. I felt strong arms lift me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. I leaned against him, and closed my eyes before falling into the darkness.

* * *

It was hours later when I awoke. I heard voices first. 

"The healers say her ankle is still weak," the first voice told someone.

"Was she running?" the second voice asked. It belong to Erchirion.

"It is possible," the first voice – Amrothos – said. "She was very upset."

I heard a door slam, and my father entered.

"What happened?" he asked. "I heard Lothíriel's leg is broken-"

"A gross exaggeration," Elphir replied. "She merely hurt her ankle. Sprained it, again – it appears to be weak from the earlier fall in Rohan."

"Did she fall again?"

"I think so, Father," Amrothos said. "I found her in a sobbing mess on the floor of the corridor."

I moaned softly, and opened my eyes to see the four men in my life gathered around my bed. My father was closest, and he took my hand.

"You had us worried, my dear," he said softly. I tried to smile, but my lips would not move in that direction.

"I am sorry – it is merely an injury. I will be fine before you know it."

"The healers said you must not walk on your ankle for several days – you are lucky we have carriages you may ride in to Minas Tirith," Elphir said. I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

Faramir and Eowyn's wedding. Minas Tirith. Éomer would be there…

"I need more rest," I said softly.

"Do you need me to stay here until you fall asleep, Lote?" Amrothos asked. I shook my head.

"I am afraid I do not feel well – perhaps something I ate has given me this stomach pain. I will be fine though."

"I will leave a healer with you," my father said. "Do listen to their advice and use their herbs."

"Of course, Father," I replied. "I just need to rest. My ankle obviously has not completely healed, but rest will see to that."

They nodded, and slowly left the room. I sighed, turning my face to stare out my windows at the sea. It was sunset, and the red and orange rays scattered across my room.

An ankle would heal, with time. But a broken heart? That was another matter.

I should never have let myself fall in love with a King.


	28. Skulk

_Author's Note: Thank you for all the kind reviews - they're always fantastic to get! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and review! _

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Chapter 24: Skulk (Éomer POV)

It had been two months since Lothíriel left Edoras. Elfhelm had left but a short month ago to ride to the Eastfold when threats of orcs arose. My only companion was Éowyn, but she was distracted by her upcoming wedding. I did not wish to trouble her with my own silly thoughts.

Silly thoughts, consumed with love for Lothíriel and fear that I would lose her. Thoughts of how I hated my duty, how I wanted to be Third Marshal again and ride across this land and be free to do what I wanted.

I should not have been King, and at the moment, I did not want to be King.

I turned away from my window and walked towards the Golden Hall. It was empty this early in the day, save for the lone dog skulking through. I was like those dogs, I thought, skulking through my own house.

Every day, it seemed, my advisors thought up new reasons why I should marry Nalyn, what I would do to Rohan if I married an outsider, why it was important, so on and so forth. I should be correct – not _all _the advisors. There were some that pushed more than others. There were those that kept quiet, those that liked Gondor. Fights broke out, and soon the daily meetings became weekly.

My advisors - it seemed - wanted to drive me mad. Slowly but surely, I thought, they would.

I sat down on my empty throne, my head in my hands.

To me, it was a matter of freedom and maintaining something of my own free will. I thought Lothíriel was perfect.

But more than anything else, I wanted to marry for love.

My advisors thought I should do otherwise.

Nalyn was a fine girl. She was pretty, in the way of many women of Rohan, and what's more she was educated. She would be a wonderful queen.

If only I loved her.

The more I could not be around Lothíriel, the less frequent her letters came, the more I took to remembering all her wonderful characteristics. Her alert features, and how she always told stories. She was a wonderful storyteller, something I noticed in her cousin as well. She told stories from her childhood, of adventures she and her brothers got into – and there were many. Being the only princess in a family of boys seemed to allow her to get into the most interesting situations.

Then, there were the stories of Númenor. I thought she must know them all by heart. She once told the story of Cirion and Eorl to the Riders while we were on the funeral procession. She had captivated them with her voice – so beautiful as it rose and fell and became hushed and exuberant – and the look on her face, which changed throughout the story.

It was that day that I realized how much I loved her. In my mind's eye, I saw little children with golden hair and grey eyes and long limbs running through the hall in front of me, with Lothíriel at my side. That day, everything that I had once worried about seemed to be made complete.

"You look thoughtful," a woman's voice said. I looked up to find Nalyn, standing in front of me.

"Remembering happier times," I said. I felt a twinge of pain at offending her, but I didn't love her and I wasn't going to marry her, whatever my advisors thought. I was just waiting until my sister's wedding, when I would officially ask for her hand from her father and her king. They could not shove available women at me after that.

I regretted not concocting this plan earlier.

"I see," she said. "May I sit?"

"I guess," I said. I did not know what to tell her.

She perched on the edge of a step, and smiled what I'm sure she considered her most alluring smile. It made my gut wrench with sadness.

"It is a fine day, my Lord, you should be outside," she said softly. "Away from these melancholy halls."

"I like melancholy," I said. There was another long pause.

"I know that things have been difficult of late, but perhaps if we spent more time in each other's company, this would be easier."

Bema! The gall of this woman. Did she really not understand I was avoiding her like a plague…for a reason? Did she think I could fall in love with her? What were they telling her?

I felt very sorry for her.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I hate that my advisors have gotten your hopes up, but I am not going to marry you." I felt horrible at being so blunt, but I could only hope those words might call them off.

"Lothíriel."

"Yes. I love her. And, I'm sorry. You are a very nice girl and will make a fine wife for someone. But that someone is not me."

"But would that be best for Rohan? For your people?"

"I think that Rohan would benefit greatly from Lothíriel's guidance," I told her. "She is very wise, and very kind, and it is not unusual for Rohan's kings to choose brides from Belfalas and Lebennin. In fact, her kin, Morwen, was Thengel's bride, and she was much loved."

"But would Rohan's people not love a queen of their own more? One from their own soil, raised amongst themselves?" Nalyn persisted, and I frowned. Her argument was one I had heard often from my advisors, one I did not believe to be strong enough.

"I think Rohan should accept whatever their King wishes," I snapped, standing up.

"In that case, should Rohan have accepted Grima Wormtongue?" Nalyn called to me. I stopped.

"I do not know what game you play at, m'lady, but I will not bow to you. I will marry Lothíriel. Good day," I said, offering her a curt bow and storming out of the room and in the direction on my study.

Nalyn's words filled me with silent fear. What if Rohan did not want a foreign queen? What if Lothíriel proved to be incapable of ruling? What if…what if I was doing the wrong thing.

I prayed that I was doing the right thing.

"Whoa!"

Without realizing it, I had walked right into Éowyn. Reaching out an arm to steady her, I said "I'm sorry, sister, I was not paying much attention."

My sister smiled, nodding. "You have been very distracted of late, Éomer. I know this situation with your advisors weighs heavily on you."

I sighed. "Does all of Meduseld know my situation?" I asked, wearily. Éowyn shook her head.

"No, but your sister does. Come," she said, turning. I followed her down the corridor to her own chambers. Upon entering the room, I noticed the disarray – clothes and her belongings surrounding an old trunk. My heart sunk even more – now Éowyn would leave me too. For happiness. For love. The sharp contrast between this and my current situation was painfully obvious.

"Come, now, brother, and tell your sister what is wrong," Éowyn said. She gestured to a pair of chairs in the corner of the room.

"I remember we used to sit here all the time," I said. "Before things went bad."

Éowyn smiled and sat in her chair, drawing her knees to her chest. She did not speak.

"I envy you," I told her. "Your ability to marry for love. Every day, it seems like that option will be lost to me forever."

"You have a duty to Rohan – your advisors think it best for you to marry this Nalyn girl," Éowyn said softly.

"Is that how you feel about this?" I asked her. I did not want to hear her answer.

"No. At least, I do not think you should marry that girl. I think that you should marry for love…and Lothíriel is the one you love. I saw it in your eyes the entire time she was here." She smiled. "You look so handsome when you are in love."

"She makes me feel like I can do anything," I said, sighing. "I am fighting, Éowyn. I know she would make a good queen. But she would make _me_ so happy…"

Éowyn reached out and took my hand in hers. "I am always here, Éomer."

"But you will leave soon."

"By then, let us hope there will be someone will take my place," she said with a smile.


	29. An Understanding

_Author's Note, Where things are clarified and reviewers are thanked: I never really thank my wonderful reviewers as much as I should, so I'd like to thank you, thank you, thank you! for your reviews. It makes me feel good to know you read and were moved by some emotion, be it sadness or anger or something else. I know, I know, you're getting restless and you're getting angry but I will not reveal any plot points. We're getting near the end, dear readers - only several more chapters! Please read and review and keep me motivated! _

_And thank you to my wonderful beta - you get where I'm going with this, and that totally rocks._

_Author's Note 2: The previous chapter took place directly after (i.e. the next day) the one before it. So, Lote got the letter, then we went to Edoras. This chapter takes place three weeks after Lothiriel injures herself._

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**Chapter 25:** **An Understanding** _(Amrothos POV)_

Being a prince had its advantages, I had learned. With my sister hurt and my family leaving soon for Faramir's wedding, I was able to delay my return to the garrison as long as possible. I spent my empty days lingering around Lothíriel's room and some days she would allow me in. She slept a lot those days and ate little, and I thought nothing of it. She had to be in a great deal of pain, and being unable to move around did not help matters much.

The next week was better – Lothíriel tried to get around the house again. Since it was only a sprain it was easy to walk on but Lothíriel seemed to nurse it like a child. She also ate little, but again I did not think much of it.

It was not until the third week that I noticed the change.

There was something about my sister that was different. You would never realize it unless you were standing close to her. Then, you would notice how she would become increasingly startled if you walked into a room, her usual jumpiness almost on the verge of tears and hysterics now. She still talked as much at the table as she had before, but there was a quietness that filled the other hours. If you engaged her in conversation she would reply, but she seemed to speak of her own accord much less than before.

She never read anymore. I would find her in the library, staring out the window. I would make an effort to seek out interesting books from the shops around Dol Amroth, but nothing could tempt her. This, itself, was disturbing. As long as I had known her, she had taken an interest in anything and everything. Now, the fire in her eyes seemed to have gone out, and was replaced by sadness.

This sadness was the most disturbing change. It seemed infinite and dark and consuming, and I wondered if I would ever see her smile again.

And then the next moment she would be at a tavern with Erchirion or me and the smile would return, along with the teasing, and she would seem normal. Then, she would turn and gaze at me, and our eyes would lock. And my soul would become cold with the sadness in her eyes, because even though her lips were smiling she was not happy. It was all an act. And the next moment she would look away, focusing on charming the next soldier in line.

Her flirtations seemed to take on a desperate intensity, as if she was never quite content with just one man but rather wanted the whole tavern to find her lovely.

This was not my sister. My sister did not act this out of control, this desperate. Something had happened, something to trigger the pain and sadness she fought so hard to conceal.

One day, I approached her in her quarters, startling her as I entered.

"I did not expect any visitors," she said.

"I am sorry, Lote," I said as I closed the door. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"It doesn't take much to frighten me," Lothíriel said softly.

"I know." I studied my sister's profile, as she turned her attention once more to the boats that entered and left the harbor.

"Lote," I said softly. Her gaze turned back to me. "You know you're my favorite sister."

She laughed, and I realized how pure it sounded, how real and pure. "I know. I am also your only sister."

"Very true. But, being my favorite, I worry about you," I said. Her gaze did not leave me. "And so –"

"You have come here to talk to me." She pursed her lips, and then turned her gaze away from me once more. I walked over to a chair that stood adjacent of hers, and sat down.

"I wanted to know what is bothering you. Do you desire a book that we do not have? Are you in pain? What is wrong, Lothíriel?" I asked her. Lothíriel shook her head sadly.

"You are a dear boy and good friend," Lothíriel said. "And I thank you for your thoughtful gifts, and your love and attention. But this is a rather selfish matter, and cannot be solved so easily."

"Selfish? Tell me what is wrong, little sister," I said, leaning forward. Lothíriel sighed.

"Oh Amrothos, it is not as dire as you might think, and like all things, it will pass." She took a shaky breath, and I noticed her eyes were damp.

"Can you at least tell me what it is?" I asked. She stood up quickly, and walked out onto the balcony. I followed her.

The view from Lothíriel's balcony was of Dol Amroth, and of the harbor. We were lucky enough to have our palace placed on a hill. Lothíriel leaned on the balcony, and gazed at the city below.

"I am envious of those citizens of Dol Amroth who merely work for a living," she said softly. "While they do not have the means to get everything they want, they still have the capacity to ensure their own freedom. But we nobles, on our hill, we have the means but do not want all that we have. We have the freedom, but are bound by our duties."

"You're talking in riddles," I said softly, approaching her. I understood her point. The life of a nobleman was never easy – all of us had our own responsibilities. Elphir would become Prince one day, and Erchirion and I had our duties with the Navy and Knights. Lothíriel would be at my father's side until she married.

Marriage. That had to be it. That was the perpetual source of discomfort for my sister. I could not blame her – her hand had not been dealt fairly, and for someone with such talent, I could not imagine her as a housewife and mother. She was destined for far greater things.

"But you can interpret my riddles," she said. She turned. "You always have."

"What troubles your mind, Lote?" I asked. "Tell me, and ease my own mind."

"Nothing but the pains of losing something very dear." Lothíriel paused. "I fell in love with him," she added softly.

_Him?_

Éomer. There could be no other.

"I do not know why I let it happen, but I do not think it could have been stopped. It just happened…and I do not regret it."

"If you are in love with Éomer, then he most definitely is in love with you! Why are you saddened then? Has he taken his time in telling you his feelings? Has he not asked for a betrothal?"

The pain in her grey eyes, as she fixed them on me, was too intense. I looked away.

"There will be no betrothal between Rohan and Dol Amroth," she said forcefully. She turned and walked away.

"Why? Has he not yet asked?" I called to her.

She stopped in the archway of her room. "He has chosen another."

Éomer? Choose another over my sister? I doubted that there was any woman who was as worthy a bride of Rohan as my sister, and I had seen with my own eyes the looks that the King had given her. Something was amiss.

"What?" I asked, following her in. She sank into her chair once more.

"He has chosen one of his own kind to marry," Lothíriel said softly. "A girl from a good family. He will be happy – she will bear him many children, I am sure."

"Yet what of you!" I asked. "You speak so calmly – you loved the man!"

"I do find myself wondering what I could have done differently," she said softly, "and then I realize there was nothing, no action of mine, that would have changed the course of events." She sighed, resting her face in her palms. "It was out of my hands before I was even involved."

I didn't reply – what could I say? She had told me months ago that she was frightened of ending up in love with nowhere to turn.

"So what happens now?" I finally asked.

"Nothing."

"You won't fight for him?"

"There's no point in fighting – I won't win." She looked up and I saw the tears in her eyes. "I love him. I have to let him go."

"That's the more reason to fight! He loves you too – he could not have possibly fallen in love with another woman overnight."

"Duty, Amrothos – we are bound to our duty, and not our passions," Lothíriel said. "I do not begrudge him the decision to marry for duty. I do not mourn him. I find my only fault in all of this is my pure selfishness. I wish I had never loved him at all."

"What?" I asked. I sat down and took her hand in mine. "How are you being selfish? You are giving up on love because you understand duty. I find that more selfless than selfish."

Lothíriel pulled away from me, and paced towards the other side of the room.

"I find my mind occupied with thoughts of what might have been," she said. "I find myself wondering what it would have been like to have been loved for who I was, not whose daughter I am or whose blood flows in my veins. I wonder what it would be like to be valued for myself, for my thoughts and ideas, than for my propensity to give birth to children, and my –" Lothíriel paused, and I realized she was crying – "my beauty. I wonder what it would have been like to have been Queen, to feel like my life was put to good use, rather than to be shut away as a nobleman's wife."

And with that, the floodgates opened and I saw clearly everything that had been churning about Lothíriel's head for the past week. She could not be content as the prize of some soldier or some nobleman. She had seen a chance for escape in Rohan, for a chance to make her life meaningful. It was the loss of that which hurt her the most.

"Did you truly love him?" I asked her. She nodded fiercely.

"I loved him with all I had, because he looked into me and saw the real me – not the Lothíriel adorned in ribbons and silks but who I really am. He respected me like no other man has, and now that is lost. I am to be the wife of a man who does not care about _me_, but merely my dowry and my beauty." She sighed. "I am selfish."

"You are not. You are honest." Lothíriel looked up at me, tears carving paths down her cheeks.

"I do not know if I can stand the wedding," she said. The tears came harder. "To see him with his betrothed, to be slobbered upon by the mangy dogs of men –"

Lothíriel collapsed to the floor, sobbing violently.

"I thought this would be easier," she choked out between sobs. "To love someone so much you let them do what they need to do. But it's not – it's tearing me apart. I love him, Amrothos. I love him for who he is, not what he is. I would love him if he were a fisherman or trader. I would love him because he is Éomer."

I wrapped my arms around Lothíriel and held her. I knew what I had to do.


	30. Follies

_Author's Note: Thank you again for your kind feedback, all of you: you freakin' rock. Thanks to my beta Deandra - I swear one day I won't be lazy and get the endquotes right! This is the last chapter until after July 9, because I'll be on vacation. So enjoy and review! _

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**Chapter 26: Follies** _(Elfhelm POV) - takes place around the same time as Chapter 25_

"Welcome back, my lord Elfhelm!"

I smiled at the young boy who greeted me as I climbed the steps to Meduseld. I was eager to be home, after a two-month absence.

The hall was filled with people as I entered. A young messenger, newly arrived from Gondor it appeared, turned as he saw me enter.

"Marshal Elfhelm!" he called out. As we approached each other, he gave me a quick bow.

"From Dol Amroth," he said, holding out a letter. I frowned. I had expected a few letters, but certainly not one from Dol Amroth.

I turned it over and glanced at the seal. From the Prince – or his family. Walking over to the table, I sat down to read it.

The author was the youngest prince of Dol Amroth, who, with a few heated words, was asking for an explanation in regards to Éomer's indecent actions towards his sister. If not given one, he offered his own solution to dispel what he deemed "the darkness that has claimed my sister's heart" – he would tell his father of the imprudence of Rohan's King.

I was caught off guard, angry that the naïve prince would dare insult the King of Rohan in such a way. But there was an anxious, angry tone in the writing that told me the prince was acting to protect his sister. And the implications of his supposed solution – telling his father, who would most surely tell the King of Gondor like every good vassal does – was a sly move. Aragorn of Gondor was a close friend of Éomer's, but from what I had seen on the procession to Edoras, his wife was a close friend of Lothíriel.

And what of the wedding? Éomer's sister was marrying Lothíriel's beloved cousin. Though Faramir was a learned man, I could not help but see him doing anything and everything to protect his dear cousin from pain.

What had happened to Lothíriel? Had they been indiscreet? Was she with child? Did he refuse to marry her? He couldn't have fallen in love with that insipid Nalyn girl…

No. My friend was far too in love with the lady from Dol Amroth to let his head be turned. But I knew, as a man, that loneliness can be calmed and comfort offered by a warm body…

No. He could not have. I'd have to box him over the ears if he lost his way so easily.

I lowered the letter. It had taken me several days to correctly place why I knew Nalyn. It was the lady herself who told me her father had spoken highly of me. Her father, a deceased Marshal of the Wold. Baldor. Not the best man but still, a good fighter.

I did not like what the counselors were trying to do in Edoras – my King was unhappy, I was unhappy. And now…had things changed?

"I must learn the truth," I said to myself. _If an edict came from Éomer himself, I do not know if I can restrain myself from coming to blows…_

I saw the young boy from outside enter the hall. "You!" I called out to him. He hurried over.

"What has been the climate of Edoras of late? Any gossip worth telling an old soldier?"

The boy's eyes widened at being noticed by a solider and he sat down next to me. "Well, my lord, there is this lady who stays in the town now. We think she is to marry the King, but nothing has been said. My mother is a cook, and she tells me that the King is very unhappy and refuses to marry the lady, but the advisors say he must. She says there is a lady more beautiful in Gondor who the King must surely love, or else he would not protest so much."

"That is a very good observance," I told the boy. "Thank you." I stood, ready to take this matter to Éomer.

As I walked down the familiar halls, I heard muffled voices behind a wooden pillar. I stopped and drew closer.

"So it's done?"

I heard voices coming, so I quickly hid behind one of the massive timber pillars of the golden hall.

"It's done."

The latent anger which had pooled in my stomach ignited into white hot fury. The voices belonged to Dygol and a younger man.

"Excellent" Dygol said.

"May I ask, my lord, why you do not like the Lady Lothíriel? She is quite beautiful, and I think she would make a lovely queen –"

"Beauty does not make a good queen. There is strength to her, and that worries me. She would become too much like Morwen, a queen of old. I do not trust the women of Belfalas."

I frowned. Morwen had been a queen of legend and renown, as far as I could remember.

I heard the footsteps draw near and I emerged from my hiding place and pinned Dygol to the pillar.

"Say not a word, boy," I growled to his counterpart, a young page, "or I will accuse you of treason as well."

"Treason!" Dygol choked out. "I have committed no treason!"

"It is your scheming that makes the King tired and weary! Your demand that he not follow his heart that makes him fight harder!"

"I would have thought he would tire by now," Dygol said. I tightened my grip on his arm.

"I will call for help!"

"And face a guard of men loyal to me and to the King," I said. I grinned. "No one can save you now."

"This is madness!"

"So is forcing your will upon the King!"

"I am an advisor! I have a job to do, and I will continue that job because the King is growing weary of these fights, and will soon marry a Rohirrim woman." Dygol smiled. "For his Lady Lothíriel will no longer take him if she believes he seeks another bride."

I dealt Dygol a blow. "You are a traitorous man!"

"No! I am ambitious. I have worked hard in the court of Theoden to ensure that I am an advisor of merit to the next king of Rohan. I will not give my place up so easily to a queen from another land – especially not one such as the Lady Lothíriel would be. She would be too strong an enemy, and sway the King's head with her mad talk."

I backhanded him again. "You speak of one you do not know!"

"I know her kind! That is enough."

"She is nothing like other princesses you may know," I said. I turned to look at the boy. "Come."

I dragged Dygol down to the King's study, and threw open the door. Éomer sat at his desk, head in his hands. My anger once again flared. He looked far worse than I remembered him. The strain – and heartache – showed on his face.

"Éomer King," I said, throwing Dygol onto the floor. "This came today from Dol Amroth." I stepped on Dygol's back while handing the letter to Éomer. He read it quickly, then I saw his face grow angry.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, rising.

"Lord Dygol," I said, "You will tell the King everything, under pain of death."

Dygol glanced up at me, and at the King, and began to speak.

"I only wished the best for Rohan," he said. Éomer's frown deepened.

"No excuses," Éomer said. "I want to know exactly what your plan is before I decide whether to banish you or kill you. Close the door, Elfhelm."

"You would not do that! You are an honest and just man –"

"Who is faced with an advisor scheming against him," Éomer said, walking out from behind the desk to stand in front of Dygol. "Since I do not know the nature of the scheme, I have to fear the worse. This letter, however, gives me a glimpse into your plan. Talk."

Dygol whimpered as Éomer towered over him, every inch a King.

"It was her – she knew that you were young and needed a wife, and she was young and needed a life outside the Wold," Dygol said. "She came to me, when you were in Gondor, and told me that if we could somehow work together, we could assure ourselves a rightful place in history. Her, as the Queen of Rohan, myself as your chief advisor."

As he spoke, I saw the muscles in Éomer's jaw working. I was as angry, that someone had plotted against my King.

"And?" Éomer finally said.

"We thought it would be easy – you seemed to not have any previous relationships or connections. We did not expect you to become enamored with the young Princess from Dol Amroth on your way back from Gondor. And so it became necessary to wear down your defenses, as well as separate you."

"What did you do to Lothíriel?" Éomer yelled, grabbing the man by his collar and pulling him up so that the two were face to face.

"I sent a letter, under Marshal Elfhelm's name, to the Princess," he said. The look on Dygol's face was one of utter terror at being called to task for his twisted dealings by his king. "I sent spies to see if she reacted to the news. We had people there ready to intercept any messages from the Princess. But after the letter, none came save for one from her brother," he glared at me, "which we did not manage to intercept, as the errand-rider was special from the palace."

"What did you write in that letter?" Éomer said, his jaw tight.

"That you had taken another to be your wife." Dygol glared at the King for a moment. "She believed it, you know. According to the sources in Dol Amroth, she hasn't been seen since the letter save by her family, or as a solitary figure on her balcony. In the palace, they whisper she grows smaller every day, and they are worried she will fade away."

With a grunt of anger, Éomer threw the man to the ground. He glanced up at me. "Call for the guards," he said. I nodded and did as he asked, opening the door to yell down the hallway. They came quickly.

"You will take Counselor Dygol and Lady Nalyn to the dungeons, where they will be treated to the same hospitality those of their ilk treated me to once," Éomer ordered. "You will then find Marshal Eothain, and send him here. And you will summon a meeting of my counselors for this evening after supper." Éomer fixed his attention on Dygol. "And there, you will tell them what you told us, or I will leave you in that dungeon to rot."

The guards bowed, and carted their prisoner away kicking and screaming. Éomer nodded and walked towards his chair. He sat down and rocked forward, holding his head in his hands.

"What's going on?" I turned to see Éowyn in the doorway. "I heard shouting."

"Come in, my lady," I said, gesturing so that I could close the door behind her. She immediately spotted her brother and ran to his side.

"What happened?" she asked. She placed her small hands on either side of his head, forcing him to look at her.

"They have deceived me," Éomer said softly. "They have told lies to Lothíriel, and probably broken her heart."

"Then we must set out for Dol Amroth, to quickly mend that heart!" Éowyn proclaimed. Éomer caught her hands and looked at her.

"It is too late. They will have set out for Gondor already…" he trailed off. "We will set out for Gondor early," he said. "And I will make right the wrongs that have been committed by others."


	31. Interlude: Look East

_Author's Note: I apologize for the delay - real life has a way of interferring, especially in summer. Just an interlude - before the reunion, after the confession. Thanks to my beta, Deandra, who freakin' rocks and who is the only writer I know who publishes during summer, thus making it not dull. Also, thanks to past reveiwers - I always like getting reviws, for they make me a happy kitten. Without further ado...enjoy!_

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**Interlude: Look East** _(Éowyn POV)_

I found him sitting on a hill above the Barrowfield. It was dusk, the last rays of the sun dissolving and night appearing at the edges of the sky. He sat on a rock and was looking east. I thought the position perfect: he was looking towards his future, whether consciously or not.

We had spent the afternoon making arrangements, sending messengers to the corners of the kingdom, letting them know the royal wedding party would set out for Minas Tirith earlier than was expected. We would allow those Riders who were to accompany the party three days time to reach Edoras, and then we would leave.

I had no objections to leaving a week early. My happiness was guaranteed – it was the happiness of my brother I now worried about, though I had a feeling I was far more worried than he was himself.

If he heard me approach before I sat down next to him, he did not say anything. Instead, he continued to look off into the distance.

I thought it unfair. First, to become King only because kin had died in battle – a position he never expected to have. Then, to meet a woman he cared for deeply, only to have those who were supposed to advise him deceive him. Which left us here...

He spoke, suddenly, though I had expected it.

"Am I doing the right thing?"

"If your heart will not let you rest, perhaps you are," I told him.

I had seen him prowl the halls of our home restlessly. I had seen the dark circles under his eyes, had seen his strong shoulders weighed down by invisible burdens. I had seen his smile disappear, and his laughter fade. I wondered if that was how he had seen me, in the dark days when I desperately wished for death rather than life.

Yes, his heart kept him restless. This had to be right.

"I hope she will listen to me," he said softly. "I think that once everything is explained, then her reason will see I am telling the truth."

"Lothíriel is a sensible girl," I said, gazing out into the distance. "She will listen to reason."

He did not say anything, wondering as I did what poison Dygol had placed in her ear. The letter her brother had sent was vague as to what condition Lothíriel's heart was in, only to say that she herself was profoundly saddened and no longer her usual self. Perhaps, the triumphant return of her love – alone – would be cause for rejoicing.

My words seemed to ease my brother's troubled mind – or, at least, I thought they did. He spoke no more on the subject, instead fumbling with the pocket of his jacket and taking something out.

"I found this earlier." Opening his palm, he held it up so that I could see what he had found.

It was a necklace, silver, with a dark green stone set in it. I had never seen silver jewelry in either my mother or my aunt's collection, but had seen a great deal in Minas Tirith.

"Is it from Gondor?" I asked.

"It was made there, yes, but it belonged to our grandmother," he said. He looked up and smiled. "I think she'll like it."

I smiled as well. It was beautiful, but it also was personal. It had belong to Morwen, our grandmother, and kin of Lothíriel's father. She would undoubtedly understand its significance.

"I think so too," I told my brother. The smile on his face was one of happiness, of hope. There were questions, too,barely visiblein the depths of his eyes. Would she still love him when he arrived in Minas Tirith? Would she consent to be his wife?

"I am glad you are smiling," I said. "I know, once you are reunited, this will be only the beginning of your happiness."

He looked away from me, out towards the burial mounds of our forefathers.

"Do you think they would have admired her?" he asked.

_They_. Our parents.

"I think they would love her for loving you," I said with a smile.

"Éowyn, you are getting too romantic in your old age," my brother said. I jumped off the rock and glared down at him.

"Old?" I teased. "You are the older brother, Éomer!" He raised his arms to block me as I playfully hit his arm.

"You should not hit your king!" he said, laughing. He rose and moved cautiously away from me, a grin on his face. "I'll race you to the hall."

"Éomer --" I started but he was gone, just like when he was younger. He appeared carefree. I liked to see him that way.

When the truth had come out, a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. I hoped, when he saw Lothíriel again, that many more weights would be lifted.

I also hoped that she was stronger than me. I had rushed off into battle, seeking death when it seemed my life was over. I knew her to be a woman of considerable inner strength. I also knew that inner strength was not all that one needed when put to the test. The house could not stand if the foundation was cracked. If Dygol had hit the right place with his blow…

I sighed, hoping that love would be enough.

I glanced east, once more. Both our futures were to be found there. My heart sped up as I thought about my betrothed.

Three days. It would never be soon enough.

I took off in a run towards Meduseld.


	32. Into the Shadows

_Author's Note: My, am I prolific this week or what? Here's the long-awaited next chapter of Hold on, Love. Thank you to all who have reviewed prior chapters. I apologize for the delay - it was a combination of lack of internet, travelling, and Remus Lupin investing my brain that pushed Lothíriel and her trauma out the door. Thank you to my fabulous beta, Deandra. _

_This chapter is dedicated to Blue Skies at Night, who's stuck with me from the beginning (and fell in love with a werewolf around the same time I did...what can I say? We both have good taste in men ;) )._

_Please read and review and make my day :)_

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**Chapter** **27: Into the Shadows** (_LothírielPOV_) 

It took us less than a week to travel to Minas Tirith. My father insured that we took the safest route which was also the flattest – a bit of a struggle, really – but it mattered that he cared about me.

I rode in a carriage for fear of jostling my ankle, which was healing well. Or, at least, I knew it no longer pained me as much as it did before. My family was kept in the dark: it was easier to use the injury to explain my lack of appetite and desire for solitude. They might start asking questions otherwise.

King Elessar and his queen greeted us at the Citadel. My cousin stood beside them, happiness evident on his face. His wedding was less than a fortnight away, and preparations were taking place all over the city. I had noticed the walls seemed cleaner and more patched than when I left. While the people of Gondor welcomed their new king warmly, they had seen Faramir as he grew from child to adult. Their reception of his new bride would be a little different than their reception of the king's bride.

I felt a flicker of nervousness enter my stomach as my father helped me down from my mount – I rode into the city – and settled me firmly on the ground. I knew I was thinner than when I left, and I knew that sadness seemed etched into my features. I was afraid to face those who knew me well.

I bowed before my King and his Queen, feeling a bit of bitter irony. In my dreams oh so long ago, I once imagined that perhaps I would be standing next to Eomer as his loving consort. Now, I was a lovesick fool.

I glanced up at Arwen. She had forsaken a life with her people for her love. How could she be so strong, to risk knowing that she would die and her family would live, all for love? Love was a fickle master, allowing some to be rewarded and others to suffer.

What had I done to be given such a death sentence?

Arwen's approached me, her eyes evaluating my face, my body, my eyes reflecting into her own. Her hand reached up to brush against my cheek. I closed my eyes quickly, unable to meet her questioning glance.

Her eyes said what she did not. _You are a shadow of what you once were._

I opened my eyes again.

"Are you all right, Lote?"

I turned towards Faramir, feigning a smile. Like Arwen, he too searched my features for something – anything – that would be reassuring and familiar. I wanted to cringe at the mere prospect of their pity.

"I am fine, Faramir," I said. "Our journey has exhausted me, and my tender ankle. I think that I should retire – perhaps rest is all I need."

Faramir nodded, then turned to my father. "Your quarters are the same as they were last time – you will stay in the house of the Steward."

"Then I will see Lothiriel to her room," Amrothos said. He placed a hand at my elbow. "Come sister, rest is what you need."

I said my farewells to my friends and family, and allowed Amrothos to guide me to Faramir's quarters. He did not say a word until he left me and my handmaidens at the door to my apartments. There, he pressed a kiss against my forehead and looked into my eyes. Grey on grey.

"I hope that rest _is_ what you need," he said. "Feel better, Lote."

And then he left me.

* * *

When I woke, it was not yet dawn. I had slept restlessly, and when I rose I felt little better than I had the day before. A small table and some fruit, probably left from last night, waited me. 

My stomach growled, a dull pain that I had learned to master more than a month before. I just wanted to feel something.

But this time, I would give in. I needed my energy to last these long days before the wedding. What little fruit I ate tasted like ash in my mouth, much like most food these days.

I walked to the window, looking out at the city below. People were waking with the sun and starting their daily chores. They rose next to their spouses or lovers, they ate their food and started their day. It was all routine, coupled with excitement at the upcoming wedding.

I would give anything for routine ordinariness.

I had found myself longing to run away, lose myself in the crowd, vanish and start a new life, ever since I spoke with Amrothos that day in Dol Amroth. That discussion had ended with me, a crumpled heap on the floor, but brought out a new tenderness in my brother. He did not betray my secret to anyone. I was surprised by this, but at the same time grateful.

Soon, I knew, the royal party from Edoras would arrive. Éowyn would be resplendent and happy, and Éomer would bring his betrothed to show to Gondor. Stability would be guaranteed, heirs seen in the not-too-distant future.

Every day, the ache diminished. I was becoming comfortable with the increasing degree of detachment, numbness even, I felt. But that did not mean that the wounds would not be torn open and salted during this event.

But I had planned my own salvation. I would not allow myself to bleed again.

I wondered, as I always did now, who would be the first man to catch my attention in Minas Tirith? Should I dress to impress them all, or merely the young ones? Perhaps the older ones, I thought, calculating; they would have the most money. Yet they would treat me with the least respect.

I shook my head, sighing. When I had been here during the war, I had worried about my life, and the lives of my family. After the wedding, I worried about love. Now, I merely worried about myself. Such childish, selfish thoughts I harbored in me, curdling inside my stomach and making me want to retch. Where had the strong girl gone? When had I lost control?

I looked West, towards Rohan. I knew where she had gone. She had been lost, somewhere between here and Edoras.

There was a soft knock, and a handmaiden entered. They had been ever-present since my injury, and I was grateful for them. They did not ask questions, nor did they surmise my malady. It was a satisfactory arrangement.

On their heels was Amrothos, dressed and ready for the day.

"You are up early, my brother," I said.

"I thought you would be as well, since you slept away yesterday," he said with a smile. He glanced at the fruit, barely touched, and then at me.

"You should eat – you will need your strength."

"I have strength enough," I said softly. I turned back towards the window. "All these preparations – I do not think I saw the people of Gondor this excited when they had a new king."

"No, they were not nearly as excited then as they are now," Amrothos said with a laugh. "Faramir has a way of endearing himself to people. They are grateful he is happy."

I nodded, resting my elbows on the balcony. "He deserves to be happy."

"We all deserve happiness, Lote. Some of us more than others," he said. I felt his eyes upon me, and was unsure of what I should say.

"My lady," a handmaiden said, breaking the silence, "would you prefer to wear your blue dress or your green dress today?" She held two dresses up for my inspection.

"Blue," I said coolly. "Do you think the gentlemen of the court will like it, Amrothos?"

"Why does it matter?" he asked. There was a questioning look in his eyes.

"I do not wish to give the wrong impression," I said. "I must appear my best."

"Is this about finding a husband, Lothiriel?" he asked, frustration evident in his voice. He reached out and grabbed my arm.

"Amrothos, you should understand that –"

"You are obsessed!" Amrothos said, not allowing me to finish my sentence; he had heard it far too often. I felt his grip on my arm tighten. "This is not like you."

"You are right, brother," I said softly. I met his questioning eyes with a hard stare. "This behavior is obsessive. But it is the only way I stay sane."

"I hardly call this sanity, Lothiriel."

"You are not me. You don't know what it takes. I have to remain rational."

"This is not being rational, it is controlling everything to the most minute detail. It is not how one should live their life!"

I took a deep breath. "But I have no other choice, Amrothos. I cannot allow this to happen again."

Amrothos looked at me, his mouth agape. He said nothing, and yet I knew what he was thinking. I had seen that look from him before.

We both remained silent.

* * *

It had started out innocently enough: a reunion. My brothers are happy to see him, and he, well, very happy to see me. The reunion was followed by an inquiry, to which I responded with something I had not allowed him before. 

I allowed Kel to escort me through the town. I invited him to our family dinner. I allowed him to keep me company in the parlor that night. I invited him out onto the balcony with me. I allowed the heartfelt admissions that he murmured to me. I invited him to stand closer with a motion, not with words.

I allowed him to ask me the question I knew the answer to – I allowed him to begin courting me.

I allowed him to lean closer to me, his face inches away from mine, his breath warm against my cheek. I closed my eyes. I did not dare to watch.

His kiss was empty. I felt nothing, none of the fire I had felt each time Éomer had taken me into his arms, none of the warmth and love and respect _he_ had. Instead, I felt numb.

_Éomer…_

Was this my fate? I would rather die than live as the wife of this man. I would rather die than allow him into my bed, allow his kisses on my lips and my face and neck. I would rather die than feel this numbness. It felt as if I was drowning in a deep, endless sea and I would never save myself.

_No._

This was my fate. I would have to live it. I could not die, and I could not live the way I wanted. All my hopes and dreams were nothing anymore, merely childish wishes I desperately held onto while they escaped my grasp. Phantoms and shadows dissolving in the wind.

Instead of the loving husband I wanted, I would receive a doting one who idolized me. Instead of respect, I would receive flattery and extraneous gifts. Instead of hazel eyes, they would be brown. Instead of sons and daughters with hair the color of spun gold, they would have dark hair and darker eyes. Instead of being Éomer's, they would be Kel's. Instead of hope…there would be despair.

I would be the mother, the loving mother and dutiful wife. I would lock myself away in my house, my cage, to only come out when my husband let me. I would lose everything and gain nothing.

Anger flared up inside me, directed at no one. Why had I allowed this to happen? How had I allowed myself to become so vulnerable?

The kisses continued, and I held back tears.

I had fallen in love. I should never have fallen in love.


	33. Here I Dreamt I was

_Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long since an update...I'm a graduate student, and I'm finding that the majority of my time is spent writing comparitive reviews or reading or doing similar things. So, (fan)fiction takes a back-seat. I hope that you enjoy this section, and please reveiw - just because I don't answer them individually doesn't mean I don't read or appreciate them (I don't really like the ones that say "Plz update for the love of GOD" but that's neither here nor there). Hopefully another two months won't pass without an update again! _

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Chapter 28: Here I Dreamt I was...(Eomer POV)**

We arrived in Minas Tirith midday. The city was already decorated for the wedding, which itself would not take place for another five days. I looked over at my sister. A nervous smile played around the corners of her mouth.

"They will love you," I said, as a woman from the crowd handed Éowyn flowers. More and more women approached us, giving us so many flowers that Éowyn's arms were full by the time we reached the Citadel. It was not only flowers in her arms but petals thrown out windows, flowers before us on the street, flowers everywhere; the nervous smile had become excited and I was grateful. Gondor had accepted their Steward's bride openly. Éowyn would be happy and safe here.

The Steward himself was waiting for us in the Courtyard of the White Tree, along with Aragorn, Arwen, and Imrahil. Imrahil's youngest son, Amrothos, was there, and I glanced at Elfhelm before we dismounted.

"I will speak to him, my Lord," he said. I nodded. We both did not say what we noticed – Lothíriel was not here.

"Welcome, Éomer King, and your lovely sister Éowyn," Aragorn said.

"Thank you, my friend," I said, stepping forward to embrace him and kiss his queen's hand. I turned to Faramir.

"I bring you Rohan's fairest flower," I told him, smiling. "I hope you value her as greatly as we do."

"I can assure you, Éomer King," Faramir said, looking joyfully at Éowyn, "Ithilien had never a flower so fair. She will be loved by all."

A blush crept over Éowyn's cheeks as she extended her hand to Faramir, who took and kissed it. They were happy, and despite the happiness of the occasion I felt a stab of pain.

"My friend, it is good to see you again," Imrahil said, his turn to greet us.

I smiled as we embraced.

"And you, my friend," I said. I looked around. "Your entire family is here, are they not? I would like to meet your son Elphir."

Imrahil laughed. "Elphir will not arrive for another day. Lothíriel, however…I do not know where she went." He turned to Amrothos. "Is Lothíriel still unwell?"

"She seemed fine today, Father. I do not know where she is," the youngest Prince said. He glared at me with an intense stare, and I looked to Elfhelm.

"Lord Amrothos," I said, "My Marshal Elfhelm has the answers to your inquiry. He wishes to speak with you."

Elfhelm nodded and Amrothos looked a bit worried until the older man clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Nothing's wrong, son, but this might take a while." The two headed towards the outer wall.

"Come," Aragorn said. "Let us eat. You can talk while you eat, can't you?" He smiled as he said this. I laughed.

"Old friend," I said as we walked towards the royal quarters, "you know full well that nothing is impossible for men of Rohan!"

But as we walked, I felt coldness fill my heart. Nothing was impossible…except, perhaps, winning the love of a princess.

After we ate, Faramir invited us to his quarters, though he and Éowyn were going out for a ride. Imrahil and one of his elder sons, Erchirion, sat and walked with us for some time, as they were staying in the House of the Stewards as well, being kin. We talked about rebuilding after the war, and the difficulties our respective countries faced. We were interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Father!"

Lothíriel entered the room in a blur of blue and grey, and time stood still. She was thinner than before – noticeably thinner. Her eyes did not seem to shine like they had in Edoras, and her face seemed different. Indeed, she hardly seemed like my Lothíriel.

If she even was my Lothíriel anymore.

She kissed her father on the cheek, and I noticed that she was followed by someone. Kel. Jealousy boiled up inside me, and I watched as she smiled for her father. I noticed her smile seemed smaller than I remembered it being. I did not like noticing these things.

"Where were you? Did you forget that Rohan was arriving today?" Imrahil asked. His tone was light as he mockingly chided his daughter.

Lothíriel laughed – a little too high, a little too short – and said, "I am very sorry, Father – it was beautiful outside and I hadn't ridden on a horse since the accident, and I just –"

"Accident?" I asked and her eyes flicked up towards me. I saw her jaw tense, and her eyes – her eyes held nothing of the warmth they had before. They were cold and distant and I felt chilled to the bone.

"I fell," she said softly. "My ankle – it might never heal fully. From when I fell in Edoras, and when I fell at home."

"I am sorry to hear that. I am sure it's quite painful." My words sounded far away, muffled by my heartbeat. Our eyes had stayed locked together the entire time, and from the periphery, I saw Kel walk towards her. Of course – they had gone together.

What did any of this mean?

"I am going to rest," she said, breaking away and kissing her father's head. "I will see the rest of you at supper."

As Lothíriel exited the room, Kel sat beside Erchirion and the two of them started to talk in hushed tones. Imrahil turned his attention to me.

"Éomer, will you walk with me?" he asked.

"Of course, my friend," I said. We walked through the hall into the courtyard.

"I am beside myself, Éomer," Imrahil said. "Something has changed in Lothíriel and I am beyond concerned for her well-being."

I frowned. "You fear she will do something drastic, in her current state of melancholy?"

"Yes. But no! Not so drastic that…I just…she hardly eats, and I know what little interest she has in reading is feigned to appease me. I know she confides in Amrothos, but he will not break her confidence and so I am left where I started – worried sick about my daughter."

"Have you entertained any notions of what might have caused her sadness?" I asked. I knew, but I did not think telling him now would do anything to appease the matter. Not until I talked to Lothíriel first.

"Many, each as unlikely as the next. I just hope that this wedding will bring her some joy – she loves Faramir so, and I know she delights in his happiness. I could buy her something, a new dress or ribbons, but she is not like other girls, and I am not like other fathers."

My friend turned to look at me, his grey eyes sad. "Perhaps your company will ease her troubled mind," he said hopefully. "Perhaps…"

As Imrahil trailed off, I took a deep breath. "I will seek out your daughter's company. She has confided in me before, perhaps she will again."

"Thank you, Éomer. You are a good friend."

I returned to my quarters disheartened.

"How did the reunion go?" Elfhelm asked.

"She…that's not Lothíriel. That cannot be Lothíriel," I said as I sank into my chair. "No, not Lothíriel. Even her father admits to that. Something has changed."

"I fear it is her," Elfhelm said.

I sighed. "What did her brother say?"

"He believed me. He didn't think you would choose a girl other than Lothíriel."

"What's wrong with her?"

"This is a bit harder to explain. The letter – I should probably let him talk to you. He is waiting outside."

"Might as well," I said. Elfhelm nodded, and soon Amrothos sat in a chair opposite mine. He leaned forward, nervously.

"I apologize-"

"No need," I said. "I would have done the same were it Éowyn."

"Lothíriel's a very special girl," Amrothos said. "She's the youngest and the only daughter, and our mother died during childbirth. I do not fault my father for the way Lothíriel was raised – I think that it was perfect for her. But the problem is that once Lothíriel turned sixteen, Lothíriel started being looked at as chattel by the great majority of men in Gondor and that…was never something she liked. Which is why she never accepted any proposal. And then you came along, and..."

"And what?" I asked.

"She loves you, Éomer. With her whole heart and soul. And to even think that the one person who didn't treat her like property to acquire abandoned her…it destroyed her."

"Is that why she looks at me so harshly? Is that why she allows Kel near her?" I said, standing suddenly. I needed to move. The confession that Amrothos had made caused my blood to churn. _She loves me? Still? Yet…_

"I think so, yes. She doesn't like Kel, not at all. But now she allows him to trail after her like a lost puppy. He is exuberant – he's already asked permission from my father to court her. And she…if he asked, she would marry him. Only because she thinks you do not love her."

"But I do!" I protested.

Amrothos looked at me. Those grey eyes, the ones that his entire family seemed to have, looked like steel in the mid-afternoon sun.

"Then we have to make sure she knows that," he said quietly. "And we have very little time."


	34. So Here We Are

_Author's Note: The Long Awaited Update. As a recap, takes place days before Faramir and Éowyn's wedding. Éomer has come to Minas Tirith to set things right with Lothíriel but things are more difficult than he imagined. Thank you so much to Deandra, my beta on this long epic._

* * *

**Chapter 29: So Here We Are (Lothíriel**** POV)**

It was one thing to hate someone from afar, and quite another to be moved by their presence, even momentarily.

I was loath to admit it, but seeing Éomer again, despite my anger and pain, made me happy. The happiness was brief, however, because it was impossible to forget the sadness he had caused me by his callous behavior.

Amrothos remained cool towards me, and I knew him angry and frustrated at my behavior. The longer I spent with Kel, the more I could understand his frustration: Kel was a fine man, but encouraging his suit only made me regret Éomer even more. My head was a jumbled mess, deciding what to think and do in this situation. Civility was expected, but I must appease my brother while being polite to two men, one of whom I had loved. Not to mention the wedding several days from now…

My head hurt.

"M'lady," a young maid said at the doorway. I turned from my contemplation of the city towards her. "The Queen requests your presence as soon as possible."

"You may take me to her," I said, eager for the distraction and thankful that, as long as I was with Arwen, I would be safe from Kel's attention.

Walking through the royal apartments made me remember the days when I used to be excited at the prospect of a happy future. The darkness that lingered on our land for so long had finally passed and with it came freedom, in many ways. I tried not to think about my own hopes and instead focused on the future of my cousin and his bride.

Arwen was alone in her chambers, yards of fabric,dresses and jewels scattered around her. Most of the dresses had the ethereal beauty only found in elven craftsmanship, and I took a moment to study a beautiful dress of silver draped over the back of a chair before the Queen noticed me.

We hadn't spoken for long since my arrival days before, and I was grateful for I knew she would question me about my current appearance and apparent loss of appetite. Thankfully, she did not choose to ask me about that at the moment.

"I want your opinion on my attire for this wedding," Arwen said seriously, turning to pick up a dress from a nearby trunk and holding it up against her.

"Don't you have maids to help you with that?" I asked, unable to stop from smiling. She smiled in return, and nodded.

"Of course, but this is a convenient excuse to spend time with you, for I have not seen you in many months."

"I had planned on wearing blue," I told her, unable to stop myself from fingering the silver dress nearby. The color was not light but dark, with a blue-green tint. I would definitely need to find a royal tailor to make me a dress in that color.

"Do you like it?" Arwen asked, drawing near and running a finger along the elegant embroidery. "I had considered this one."

"It's beautiful," I said. "And so are the jewels and everything else you have. Fit for a Queen."

"Yes," she said softly. She glided across the room again, searching in a different trunk. She turned and looked at me for a long time, and I felt as if she was examining me head to toe.

"I sacrificed everything I had ever known," she said softly, "and it was worth it."

I closed my eyes. I was unable to reply.

"Silver or gold?" she asked finally, and I opened my eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

As I crossed the Court of the Fountain on my return from the royal apartments, I was surprised to find Amrothos hurrying towards me.

"I've been looking for you," he said. "We're going on a picnic."

"Picnic?" I asked. "I thought you were angry with me."

"Frustrated, actually but yes, picnic. Faramir suggested it. He wanted our two families to spend time together as a family."

"Really now," I remarked, as Amrothos took my arm and hurried me along. "A family gathering? And who will be on this outing?"

"Well, us of course," he said, "Father and Erchirion, and Faramir, and Éowyn and her brother –"

"No." I stopped walking. "Absolutely not."

"Lote." Amrothos turned to face me. "They will be family soon and you will have to live with that."

I sighed. "I'm not dressed for riding."

"Then get dressed and join us!" he exclaimed with a smile I could only take to be mischievous. My brother was definitely up to no good, but I headed down the path to our quarters to change into something more suitable for riding nonetheless.

When I returned, I found our party near the stables. Already on their mounts were Faramir and Éowyn, engaging in quiet conversation with my father…and Éomer. Off to the side were Erchirion and Kel.

"Since when was Kel considered family?" I asked Amrothos, tugging on my gloves as I did.

"For Erchirion's sake, Kel has always been like a brother," Amrothos said. "Does it matter?"

I glanced at Éomer, who seemed to regard me for a moment with intense interest before looking away. We had hardly spoken since he arrived at Minas Tirith, and somehow that bothered me far more than it should.

But, if Kel was here, this might be useful – a perfect chance for revenge, to show him that he meant nothing to me anymore.

"Right," I said. At that moment, Faramir caught sight of us and called out, "Hurry up or we shall leave you here with no food!"

"At least somebody's happy," Amrothos muttered under his breath. I let go of his hand and, smiling my largest smile, walked with what I hoped was an air of confidence towards my horse.

"Let me help you, m'lady," Kel said quickly, and I smiled at him as I gave him my hand and he helped me into my saddle. Once mounted, I couldn't help but glance at Éomer, who looked incredibly unhappy.

"Good afternoon, Éomer King," I said with a polite nod of my head.

"Good afternoon, your highness," he replied politely as well.

"We're all here?" Faramir asked. "Then let us depart!"

As we found our way down the city streets, people left their houses and waved at our procession. Women offered flowers to Éowyn, who took them gratefully under Faramir's watchful gaze. There was an expression of utter contentment on my cousin's face, and I could not help but smile.

"He looks so happy," I said, a pang of sadness in my stomach when I realized I would never marry for love.

"They both do," a voice said, and I turned, surprised to see Éomer riding next to me.

"Forgive me, I thought you were my brother," I told him, heat rising to my cheeks in embarrassment. How could I let my guard down with him so close?

"There is no need for apologies, m'lady," he replied, "especially when you are speaking the truth." There was something in his eyes – searching my face for something I could not discern.

"Thank you," I said softly, digging my heels into Duthanhol and spurring him forward – towards Kel.

"A lovely afternoon for a ride, is it not?" I asked politely, all the while feeling Éomer's gaze.

"Forgive me, but the lady is far more lovely than the afternoon," Kel responded, and I smiled.

A lovely, but long, afternoon indeed.

XxX

Faramir had chosen a spot in Ithilien for our luncheon, which I thought rather fitting. I had not been to Ithilien since I was a child, and I had forgotten the beauty of the surrounding country. Éowyn seemed impressed by the rolling hills and tall trees, and we laid out our meal – we had brought no servants – I could not help but glance at Éomer, to see his reaction.

He was steadily watching me, that same unreadable expression still on his face.

A chill crept up my spine. What could possibly be going through that man's head?

Luckily, Erchirion waved at me from the glade and I made my way to sit between him and Kel on blankets spread on the hard ground.

"I have never been to Ithilien," Kel confessed, eager to gain my attention. "It is lovely."

"It is," I responded, "much like the rest of Gondor."

"But surely Belfalas is first in your heart, my lady?" Kel asked. I felt eyes watching me, and smiled sweetly at my companion.

"Of course," I replied. "Pass the pasties, please."

Lunch proceeded with much small talk, mostly between my father, cousin and Éowyn. Éomer remained strangely silent, picking at his food and joining in conversation only occasionally. After we ate, Erchirion suggested a walk, and Kel and I joined him. Éowyn and Faramir went in another direction, while Éomer, Amrothos, and my father stayed behind.

We did not stray far from the glade, and soon Erchirion returned to discuss matters with our father, leaving me with Kel – and in full view of Éomer. Once again, the man watched me with an unreadable expression, watched as I smiled and laughed with my companion, flirting shamelessly and feeling ill with everything I said or did.

With a steady gaze, I looked at Éomer, wishing him to see that I was doing this for his benefit, to make him realize what he had lost. The look on his face was of pure anger, and I looked away.

There was a flurry of activity on the far edge of our picnic site, and I glanced over to see Éomer mount Firefoot and take off towards the city.

"What was that for?" Éowyn asked, returning to the circle at the same time I did.

"He did not feel well," Amrothos explained, directing a critical gaze at me.

I felt triumphant and completely sick. While I had managed to make Éomer jealous – at least, I assumed it was jealousy – I had reduced myself to shameless flirting with a man who disgusted me with his simpering behavior.

I wanted to vomit.

"My lady," Kel said, as I swayed on my feet, "are you ill?"

"So much activity for an invalid," I said. "Perhaps I should rest."

"Do so immediately," my father said, sounding worried. He called out to one of the guards who had accompanied us, directing him to follow me back to our quarters.

As my horse was led towards me, Amrothos reached out to help me. "Feel better," he said, helping me mount.

I nodded. "I will try."

"Promise me that," he said. "Please, Lote."

I nodded again, confused. "Of course. I shall see you all at supper," I called out, heading towards the city.

XxX

The marble walls of the city retained their cool in the heat of the afternoon, making me exceedingly happy. My face burned in shame and embarrassment as I entered our quarters. I fell into the chair, burying my head in my hands. My temples throbbed and my stomach ached. What had possibly come over me? Why would I do such a thing?

The answers that sprang to mind did not seem good enough.

"Feeling ill?" a male voice said. I stood immediately and spun around.

Éomer leaned against the doorway, his eyes fixed on my face.

"Yes," I whispered. Oh Eru, what had I done?

We stood in silence, each looking at the other, until I looked away. I could not bear it.

"That was cruel, Lothíriel," Éomer said. He did not move from the doorway, remaining a cold presence in the corner of the room. "I doubt you could have come to feel any affection towards that Swan Knight who follows you around like a lost puppy, especially based on your behavior towards him last time we were in Minas Tirith."

"Do you, my lord?" I responded.

"I do. I did not think you were the type of woman to play so recklessly with men."

"Perhaps you do not know me as well as you had thought."

"Or perhaps you are merely trying to be cruel."

"You have no right to accuse me of _anything_." Hot blood coursed through my veins. He had no right _at all_.

Éomer's dark eyes held mine in silence.

"I have no right to accuse?" Éomer said softly, and I was unable to tell if it was anger or calm indifference that tempered his voice

"No," I replied. I felt the tears welling up behind my eyes. He would be self-righteous, of course, as he did not promise me anything. I could not stand it. I started to walk away.

"We aren't finished," he said. I stopped and turned towards him.

"I think we have been finished for some time, to be honest," I told him.

"Before you accuse _me_ of anything," he said, walking towards me, "I think you need to know that you have been greatly deceived."

"How so, my lord?" I asked. "I thought it was made explicitly clear that I was no longer desired – "

"Lothíriel," he said, standing arm's length from me and looking so sad I felt my heart break, "Elfhelm did not write any letter on my behalf."

I shook my head. "I don't understand."

"I do," Éomer said. He took one step forward, as if wary of approaching me. "One of my advisors wrote you that letter, in order to deceive both you and me. He had hoped that if you thought I had chosen another as a bride, he could destroy your feelings for me."

And suddenly I couldn't feel my legs anymore, couldn't feel anything anymore, and before I knew it, strong arms were around me, helping me to sit on the floor. I could not breathe, could not think, could not speak, only feel the cool marble against my palms and a brush of hair against my forehead.

All of this had been a plot to gain power. I had been a pawn, discarded at will. I had suffered and been deceived and - the churning in my stomach grew.

"I'm so sorry this happened," Éomer's voice said in my ear, his fingers wiping away hot tears I hadn't even known I had shed.

"I'm so sorry," he said, drawing me close to him. "I love you, Lothiriel, and I promise you that the people that hurt you have been punished for their treachery."

He loved me. He loved me?

"You love me?" I asked, looking at Éomer.

He smiled, brushing hair back from my wet cheeks and pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I have always loved you, and always will," he said softly.

"Even after what I did today?" I asked, fearful that he was lying. Oh, Eru –

"You did not know any better," he said. "I knew that, but it did not make it any easier. I was so frustrated – I wanted to tell you, but that damned Kel –"

"Damn Kel," I said, leaning forward to kiss him.

Our lips touched, and then someone shouted, "What exactly is going on here?"

I opened my eyes and saw Kel.


	35. When the Sun Rises

_Author's Note: It's scary that we're nearing the end. Two more chapters (give or take) and a sequel. Thank you to all who left me lovely reviews and to Deandra for her awesome beta work._**  
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**Chapter 30: When the Sun Rises, and Parts the Fog (Éomer POV)**

"What exactly is going on here?"

In the doorway stood the Swan Knight – Kel, Amrothos had said his name was – whom Lothíriel had flattered during lunch. And he looked angry.

I felt Lothíriel draw away from my embrace and turn towards him. "We were discussing important business," she said innocently yet truthfully. I stood slowly, and she reached out for my hand to help her up.

"Important business?" Kel spat out, clearly not believing her. "If this is important business then – "

"Kel." Lothíriel silenced the Swan Knight, and I too found myself looking at her. She held herself tall, eyes shining and her voice commanding. I immediately saw shades of the fierce determination both Aragorn and Imrahil had shown in battle - a true descendent of Númenor.

"The King of Rohan was merely assisting me. You will recall how my ankle has not fully healed and cannot support my weight for extended periods of time." Her voice softened as she continued, "Yet you need not worry, Kel, for I am a grown woman and can take care of myself. And if you will excuse us, the King and I have matters to discuss."

A look of annoyance mingled with something else – sadness, perhaps – crossed the man's face. Without another word, Kel bowed sharply and left the room.

Lothíriel sighed, then turned to me. "I'm glad you told me," she said, reaching for my hands.

"I had originally wanted to send a courier, but my sister convinced me that telling you myself would be best."

"Why did you not tell me immediately?" she asked. "Why wait at least a day?"

"I take the blame for that, dear sister," a voice said from the doorway. Amrothos leaned against it, almost exactly where Kel had stood earlier.

"How so?" she asked, cautiously.

"I sent a letter to Edoras," Amrothos said, entering the room. "And upon the arrival of our dear Eorlingas, discussed the matter with their King and counsel."

"Your brother told us what happened in Dol Amroth –" I told her.

"And of course the King sought to make amends," Amrothos added.

"Of course." I needed her to know that I wished - with all my heart - none of this had happened.

"But you did not expect to make it in such a manner." Amrothos smiled, and Lothíriel continued to evaluate both of us with her critical eyes.

"Indeed – I had intended to tell you immediately, but your brother told me to wait."

"I thought it best to wait until today, when the two of you would be near each other for longer than mere minutes," Amrothos said. "It was Faramir's idea to go on a picnic, and it took little goading to have Kel invited as well. And with Kel around, of course my dear sister would act ridiculous and of course you would be upset. And when you went storming off, I knew Lothíriel would be equally uneasy. Getting the two of you in one room was not difficult."

"But Kel?" I asked.

"I knew that if the two of you were reconciling – which I knew for certain you would be – then how to lose a puppy better than to show no further interest in it. I sent him here with a cloak," Amrothos held up a scrap of fabric in a dark blue hue, "which I said Lote had left behind, knowing exactly how he would react."

Lothíriel stood silent, looking at her brother before she smiled. "Well done, _hanno_," she told him. "Your devious behavior is most impressive."

"I prefer to think of it as political maneuvering," Amrothos said with a smile. "Now, I believe the two of you have certain things to discuss, and I shall take my leave. Elphir's caravan is said to be spotted on the edge of the Pelennor."

Lothíriel nodded, and I was happy to remember her hands had not left mine.

"I was a fool," Lothíriel repeated. "I thought I was lost forever. I took leave of my better senses and allowed my sadness to cloud my vision."

"I cannot tell you enough how sorry I am," I said, taking the chance to draw her close to me and with her arms around me and her head against my neck, I felt peaceful. Content. It was as if something had been returned I hadn't realized I had lost – or perhaps, never thought to find again. With Lothíriel in my arms, I realized how greatly I cared for her, and how much I needed her with me.

She pulled back from me, her eyes searching my face for a moment. I thought, perhaps, I should lean in to kiss her, but she looked down and I did nothing.

"Though this revelation does much to ease my troubled mind, Éomer, I have to admit there is still a great deal I must grapple with."

"I understand," I said, worried that my moment of happiness was just that – a moment, taken hastily and never to be granted again.

"I should talk to him," she sighed, and I assumed she meant Kel. "But first we should go welcome my brother."

"I look forward to meeting him," I said. "Your father has told me much about him."

"He is a good man," she said. "I hold him in great esteem."

"By all means, Lady Lothíriel, I would be most honored to escort you to the courtyard, where I am sure the rest of the welcoming party awaits." I offered Lothíriel my arm which she took with another warm smile.

The rest of our party was waiting in the courtyard talking amongst themselves in an animated manner. Éowyn stood by Faramir, looking increasingly happy and it made me sad to realize, once again, that I would be leaving my sister to her new life in Ithilien in a few short days.

"You were right," I said to Lothíriel. "They do look happy."

"They deserve it," she said, before removing her hand from my arm and heading across the courtyard to where Erchiron, Amrothos, and Kel loitered in the shade. I turned away from them as Aragorn joined us with his queen.

"You look a great deal less troubled," he commented, and once again I was surprised by my friend's powers of observation.

"I am," I admitted, though I did not elaborate as Imrahil and the betrothed couple soon joined us to wait for Elphir's arrival.

The oldest son of Dol Amroth's prince strongly resembled his kin – the steel-grey eyes, dark hair, and tanned complexion of Imrahil, and the height of all the men of Gondor. There was strength and dignity, too, which ran in the family. He was good-natured enough, expressing his happiness at Faramir's betrothal and complimenting Éowyn appropriately.

After introductions were concluded and we made to enter the King's quarters for light refreshments – there would be supper later, another intimate affair with the two families and the King and Queen – Lothíriel seemed to appear from nowhere and it was only then that I realized she had been gone for some time. After she embraced her brother, we entered the royal apartments. Lothíriel and Amrothos lagged behind, discussing something in whispered tones in a foreign tongue.

I turned my attention once again to Imrahil and his sons, noting with some happiness the absence of a certain Swan Knight. I could not help but wonder at the conversation they must have had.

* * *

Light refreshments ended in conversation, and some time spent with my sister walking around the citadel and the court, discussing her future. She was happy, I knew, and I wished her great joy in her new life.

"And your new life, brother?" she inquired. "Have you discussed matters with your lady?"

"I have told her that she was deceived, and offered my apologies for her heartbreak, but we have not talked further," I told her. "I hope that tomorrow we shall."

"Does she forgive you, then? Faramir said there was a Swan Knight who had won her favor…"

"As far as I know – from what the lady has told me – all should be well and the Swan Knight will be of little consequence," I admitted, though I still felt as if the matter was not yet resolved. "Maybe I will speak with her after supper."

"I wish to see you happy," Éowyn said, reaching for my hand.

"You and I both," I said in reply.

Supper was simple, and I felt for the first time in a while as if I once again had family. Imrahil and his sons had always treated me with kindness, and I thought the Prince to be a good friend, but now they seemed to welcome both Éowyn and me into their family.

Lothíriel, though still appearing distracted, smiled far more during dinner than she had at any point since my arrival, and occasionally I caught her staring at me with both apprehension and admiration in her grey eyes.

"It is natural," Éowyn whispered to me during the meal, "when betrayal is so fresh in her mind. To be fed lies in place of the truth threatens one's sense of what is right and wrong."

I nodded, remembering the deceptive words of Grima Wormtongue and hoping that whatever poison Lothíriel had been given, truth would be the antidote.

After dinner, the men of Dol Amroth found cards and started to play a gambling game, drawing in both Faramir and the King, while Éowyn and Arwen discussed other matters over wine. My eyes sought – and found – Lothíriel, seated near a window overlooking the Pelennor. Her eyes met mine as I went to stand near to her.

"There is enough room," she said, curling her feet towards her. I sat down, and looked out over the fields and the city.

"Is it not beautiful?" she asked, looking down at the houses below us which were decorated with candles and other forms of light. In the distance, bonfires lit the Pelennor for both safety and celebration. "I am sure your sister will come to love Gondor as much as she loves Rohan."

"I, too, find myself becoming enamored with this land the more I visit it," I told her. She smiled.

"It is lovely, but so is Rohan. And you must come visit Dol Amroth one day," Lothíriel said. "I will take you out to the sea, and we will find shells and have a picnic."

"I would love to see your fair city," I told her. "Your father has often invited me."

"I hope you will come for my father's sake, but also for mine," she said, and I felt some of the weight that rested on my heart lift. Despite my earlier confession, I still worried that she did not love me as much as I continued to love her.

"I would like to go see the lights from the court," she told me. "Will you escort me there? Everyone else seems caught up in other forms of merriment and I could use the fresh air."

Was she trying to get me alone? "I would be honored, m'lady," I told her. With a brief glance at Elphir, who was in her line of sight, and a nod, Lothíriel and I left the royal apartments and walked in companionate silence towards the courtyard. In the center, the sapling grew, green and strong, and Lothíriel stopped for a moment to admire it before we continued onwards.

"After tonight, the days will blur together until the wedding," she said. "An endless series of feasts and parties and royal assemblies and then the wedding itself," she said with a smile. "Of course, afterwards we'll all be terribly fat and drunk and bored."

I laughed, and she turned and smiled at me.

"We will not have much time to speak, though we shall have many occasions to see each other…" Lothíriel trailed off. We reached the edge of the court, and found ourselves at the steps to the great hall.

"Shall we sit?" I asked. I looked around and noticed both Rohirrim and guards of the Citadel lingering in the distance, watching us as we walked and talked. I felt a distinct lack of privacy, and wished she had taken us elsewhere.

Lothíriel nodded and sat down, drawing her blue skirts around her and leaning her chin on her knees. "I do not know if there is much to talk about, now that I sit and think. Or, maybe I don't know what to say."

"I want you to know that I still hold you in the highest regard," I told her. "And that will never change."

"And I thank you for that. My opinion of you, though undiminished in its intensity, has suffered some. I do not think it will take much to redeem it, but I wanted to be honest with you." Lothíriel took a deep breath, looking out across the green grass. "I care a great deal for you, Éomer, but it will take time to mend what I have broken. It is my own fault, for believing lies, as much as it is those who misled me."

"I understand," I said softly, and was startled to find her hand reaching for mine.

"Swear to me that you do understand," she said, "and that you think no less of me for it."

I brought her hand up to my lips, brushing them across her knuckles. I was rewarded with her eyes fluttering briefly, and watched as she took a trembling breath. "I promise you with all my heart, Lothíriel, I will never think less of you for anything you do."

"I believe I have found the air I need," she said, slipping her fingers from my grasp and standing up. "Please, Éomer King, escort me back to our families."

I smiled. "With pleasure, m'lady."

I would wait as long as she needed me too. I understood too well how lies could damage, and how falsities could be mended.

* * *

Lothíriel was right in saying that the days leading up to the wedding would be a blur. Function after function – private parties and grand feasts, social calls and even political meetings between the Captains of the West – took up every moment of my day, though I struggled to see Lothíriel. While I did not spend much time with her the first day after our discussion, though, I was heartened to see a change in her demeanor. Her father noticed it as well, and mentioned it to me after dinner that day.

"I am glad to see that Lothíriel's mood has lightened," he told me. "I hope that she told you what troubles her so."

"We did discuss the matter," I admitted to my friend, "and I feel that a weight has been lifted from her shoulders." Despite of what I answered, I was not sure of the truth of the matter, though I did not tell Imrahil as much.

"Thank you, my friend," Imrahil replied. "It does my heart good."

I wondered if he knew of my feelings for his daughter, but decided not to ask. Things still being unresolved with Lothíriel, I thought it best not to risk anything. My grandmother's necklace was still hidden in my luggage, and I hoped it would not remain wrapped up for long.

Festivals and tournaments went on for days, and often Lothíriel joined our party for various outings. Twice we were seated next to each other and enjoyed friendly conversation and, afterwards, some dancing. Touching her and being near her for so little time always made me want more, and I was grateful when she whispered "Time mends all things" after one dance. I hoped it would work swiftly, and found myself counting the days until all of the excitement was over and I could steal some time for us.

The night before the wedding, it was Amrothos' idea to have all the men of our party gather in the Steward's study for some drinking and discussion. He did it to ease his cousin's nervous mind, and I could tell the company and merriment chased away demons still left from before the war.

The princes of Dol Amroth and I wandered back to our lodging at a leisurely pace, and while I found myself grateful to be acquainted with warmhearted – and boisterous – men such as the Prince's sons, I desired some time alone. Once inside the house, I found my way towards the library My veins were humming with the strong brandy that Elphir had brought, and I thought it a trick of the drink when I heard a soft voice call my name.

I turned around, surprised to see Lothíriel standing at the balcony. She was dressed almost as she had been that night so long ago, before the march to the Black Gate and the fall of Mordor, before I had known her better. She stood, ethereal in the archway, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight and my breath caught in my throat.

_This must be a dream,_ I thought.

"I fear not," she said. "I can't sleep. I'm too anxious for tomorrow." At the look of confusion on my face, she laughed. "You spoke your thoughts aloud."

"Forgive me, I thought I was…thinking," I apologized lamely.

"No matter. Would you care to join me on the balcony?" she asked, turning back towards the moonlight which beckoned to us both.

"Yes." It was all I could reply, for it was all I wanted.

We sat together, looking out at the city, and neither of us said a word. I was still trying to understand the situation when, suddenly, Lothíriel spoke.

"Éomer," she said, "kiss me."

I turned towards her, startled. I could not wipe confusion off my face and she studied me carefully before smiling.

"I would like it if you kissed me," she said, and I could not help but to oblige her. Leaning down, I carefully pressed my lips against hers, happy at least to be so close to her.

I was surprised, however, when she deepened the kiss, fingers threading through my hair and pulling me closer to her. I responded reaching for her hungrily.

I was not surprised, however, when she pulled away. Kissing me one last time, she said, "Thank you." She stood, and I saw that she was breathless and flushed, her eyes heavy and lips swollen.

"I should retire –"

"Wait," I said, catching her arm. "How do I know this isn't a dream?"

"Because, my lord," she said, leaning close, "I shall remind you of it tomorrow." She lifted my hand and placed a kiss at my wrist, then dropped it and ran into the library. I stared at the doorway, contemplating a great many things but most importantly time, which had mended my fair lady's heart.


End file.
